


Under My Skin

by shibi



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Feminization, M/M, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shibi/pseuds/shibi
Summary: Patrick Timothy Kane II, being the only son of a very influential man, is part of a very influential criminal family. ‘Is’ might be pushing it though after his disgraceful fall from the family hierarchy. He’d been groomed to take over from his father from the moment of his birth. But… but Patrick has never wanted that kind of life for himself, that kind of responsibility. It’s the root of a number of problems he currently has.
Relationships: Jonathon Toews/Original Female Character(s), Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews, Patrick Kane/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

Patrick Timothy Kane Jr, being the only son of a very influential man, is part of a very influential criminal family. ‘Is’ might be pushing it though after his disgraceful fall from the family hierarchy. He’d been groomed to take over from his father from the moment of his birth. But… but Patrick has never wanted that kind of life for himself, that kind of responsibility. It’s the root of a number of problems he currently has.

_1\. He attracts trouble like pollen attracts bees_

Patrick feels like he just needs to make one thing clear—and that is he never expects this kind of shit to happen to him, but it kind of always does. He’s been called a magnet for trouble before, and… well, they’re not wrong.

If something can go wrong, it will inevitably always go wrong, and Patrick will always be blamed for it.

_2\. He hates being told what to do_

He’s developed a bad taste for authority—if his father pushes him, his instinctual reaction is to push right back. His life is just a constant stream of orders and commands and he _hates_ it. He wants to be able to make basic decisions about his own fucking life. He wants to be able to decide he’s going to do on any given day, wants to be able to eat something he craves, wants to be able to wear an outfit that hasn’t been selected for him. Even something as simple as how to wear his hair is decided by someone else (“your curls make you look like a child,” his father had explained, “maybe you can wear them when you’re older”).

“You can’t be trusted with this kind of stuff,” Patrick’s mother will remind him as she hands him a pale blue tie (he’d wanted to wear the red one), or “you’ve embarrassed us before,” she would say. He doesn’t think going casual to a family dinner is embarrassing… although, he maybe did cross a line when he turned up late to a meeting with his father in a hoodie and jeans.

_3\. He’s gay, as in he genuinely loves cock_

More traditional families (like his) want to spawn a long line of fat babies to ensure only blood-relatives can “rule”. Consequently, exclusively gagging for cock is a Problem with a capital ‘P’ because there’s no way he’s going anywhere near a vagina (ew) long enough to impregnate her with little Kane babies to continue on the legacy.

Also, Patrick doesn’t want to inflict this life on anyone let alone an innocent child.

_4\. He’s really fucking gay and he hasn’t been that discrete about it_

His family are upset because he gets caught with his mouth around one of his security detail’s cocks. He remembers it fondly (that guy taught him everything he knows about having and giving excellent head) but Patrick expects he’s dead. Patrick had been whipped (literally) for the mistake, still has a lingering scar on his back, but a lowly security guard that couldn’t keep their hands to themselves? He’d have paid for that mistake with his life.

What this ultimately means is that it’s harder for his family to broker a marriage.

_5\. He’s smart, like mathematics and statistics are poetry in motion_

His family likes smart, but they don’t appreciate too smart (because apparently no one can be smarter than his father). That means pointing out a fatal flaw in the data being discussed is a very bad idea (the numbers just didn’t make fucking sense… it was like someone had tripped over a keyboard and then decided that that looked close enough).

They don’t want him to study either—why get a degree in mathematics when you can get a home-grown degree in how to dismember a disloyal family member without getting blood on your shoes?

_6\. He openly renounces his position in the family_

Patrick hates his family, is scared of becoming like his parents. He wants to love and be loved in return, to be seen as someone of worth rather than a burden to the family. He’s too soft as well—he knows how to protect himself but, much to the disappointment of his family, he doesn’t have the stomach for violence or murder, for enforcement.

They call it disgraceful, but Patrick just thinks it’s common sense. He’d never have been able to take over form his father, he doesn’t have the heart for it, or the appetite for power.

_7\. His usefulness had disappeared after no longer being a named heir_

He’s confined to his room unless they need him to schmooze (which they surprisingly do quite a lot, clearly Patrick has skills). He’s not allowed to see friends privately. Under no circumstances is he allowed to date (it’s not worth it anyway, sex with his security escort hanging around in the room will just never happen because he might like some kinky shit but he’s not an exhibitionist). His family, he’s told, has no use for him. So, his sister Erica had taken on the burdens of being heir and Patrick is relegated down the ladder of hierarchy.

He realises that his family wants to shuffle him off, pretend he doesn’t exist or get rid of him. To unburden themselves of the problem that Patrick is and everything he represents.

_8\. He wants to be loved_

He is, admittedly, a bit of a hopeless romantic. He wants the kind of love that’s freeing—he wants someone that won’t put him in another cage, that will see his worth, that won’t try and change who he is just so he can fit into some preconceived notion of who he should be.

Sue him—he grew up with Disney and he really wants to bag a prince charming that’s ok with his illegal online activities and has him gagging for it (a difficult combination to land, he admits… he’s doomed to die alone).

_9\. He’s fucking lonely_

He’s never really had the chance to date. Dating as the heir was limited to whoever his parents approved of and, surprise, surprise, all appropriate candidates are women. Before he’d renounced his position he’d been told he needed to breed, and that if he was that insistent about being gay they would allow him to keep a lover of appropriate rank and family background after his wife had successfully birthed their first child. Patrick is equally fascinated and repulsed about this plan his parents seemed to have in place for his life—it was one of the primary reasons he’d renounced his position.

The most he’s been allowed to have are the night he slips away from his security and picks up in a club—his experience is limited to one-night stands in derelict bathrooms, back alley ways and hotel rooms. None of the people he sleeps with want to get to know him better… he supposes bars and clubs aren’t where you go to find romance, but he’d thought at least one of them would think he was a good enough lay to warrant trying for a repeat performance.

His life is full of people, and he’s never really left alone, but he does feel lonely. He’s unhappy, sometimes so much so that he’ll cry himself to sleep.

And that brings him to his final Problem with a capital fucking ‘P’…

_10\. He’s affianced without his consent_

He hadn’t realised they’d try to marry him off so he could become someone else’s problem. The contracts refers to him as ‘property’—he’s bought for a new trading route and a few popular brothels along the border of their territory. His dowry isn’t insignificant, but neither is it anything near what it should be given his rank. It’s like they brokered a deal for the pure purpose of washing their hands of him, and it hurts to realise that maybe they did. He’s been taught his whole life that he’s unworthy, maybe it’s time he learns the lesson.

His name is Enda Meagher and he’s some distant branch of the Irish side of the family that’s called in a favour. Patrick remembers meeting him a few years ago, he’s old and gross and desperate for a connection to a powerful family (he’s also desperate for a dowry because his finances are shit).

Patrick gets angry just thinking about it—how his family thought he’d even consider marrying a geriatric asshole known for his wandering hands, a lack of propriety when it comes to consent and a less than stellar reputation for the treatment of partners, is beyond him. His parents had sat him down and quietly told him he’d follow through on this marriage or else. The ‘or else’ generally implies that if you weren’t careful, you’d be dead—there’s only so many times someone of the blood can decline the “opportunities” their family offers before it becomes more than a problem. Patrick understands then that he’s stayed well past his welcome, that he needs to leave and gets out of this mess himself.

\--

In the months leading up to the wedding he plays nice with Enda, trying not to feel violated when his hands slip to places Patrick really doesn’t want them. It’s hard in a way he hadn’t anticipated—he feels humiliated and dirty, but he understands that currently the scales are not weighted in his favour and allowing this man some leeway now will pay significant dividends in the future. He hates how people around them titter with laughter, as if he’s not being assaulted in broad daylight but rather that they’re simply long-lost lovers that can’t keep their hands to themselves. It disgusts him.

So, he smiles sweet like syrup and pretends to enjoy the attention. He draws a line with wandering hands though, explaining shyly to his soon-to-be husband that it wouldn’t be proper for him to have the main course before dinner. The old man enjoys the euphemism, laughs as he cups Patrick through his pants anyway.

“I’m enjoying the act,” he replies, low enough so that only Patrick will hear him. “For now, I’ll play along. However,” he says, fingers digging in against Patrick’s cock until he’s on the edge of pain, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, “I will have you on our wedding night, willing or not.”

Patrick understands the threat perfectly, and nods. “Of course.”

\--

He bides his time because it’s not as easy as just walking away. Plans have to be laid and the timing has to be damn near perfect so he doesn’t end up in some hovel with no new identity and no money to buy him a life… or worse, caught and killed because he tried running in the first place.

He discovers that it’s easy enough to siphon off cash when he’s constantly going shopping for a wedding he doesn’t want—he simply pays in cash where it’s not too noticeable and happens to keep the overdraft himself, re-depositing it in a private bank account that’s not known by his family before withdrawing the money again and then slipping it into a bag (he wants the notes untraceable by his family, they keep track of that shit unfortunately). His parents think he’s throwing a tantrum and spending big, but they indulge him. He assumes because some part of them feels guilty for what they’re doing to him.

He also does some wizardry with a few private offshore accounts his family don’t know about, locking them up so he can come back to them later and align them to his new identity. It’s possibly a good thing to be underestimated, he realises, otherwise he would’ve been watched too closely to be able to pull this off in such a short amount of time.

He decides he has to wait until the wedding—it’s the perfect way to disappear quietly because there will be a lot of people and the security will be a mix from multiple families that have been invited along to the celebration. When it comes to these sorts of events, the security is always more concerned with each other than the hosts, and his family will be distracted by entertaining guests rather than keeping Patrick in line. Afterall, that responsibility will fall to his husband so he’s no longer his parents’ problem.

The wedding is ridiculous and Patrick is pretty close to disgusted with the sheer extravagance of the event—there are better things to do with one’s money, honestly. He makes it through the ceremony without too much trouble, only tripping over the vows because he’s not going to love, honour or obey this asshole, no matter what he says in front of the priest and all these witnesses. The ring is… at least more modest than the engagement ring. His engagement ring is some monstrosity that he’s more convinced is fake than real (why 5 karats? Just… why?) but the wedding band is just a row of diamonds inlaid in gold. It doesn’t look very nice alongside his engagement ring.

A reception follows the ceremony. He tries to smile through the photos, the congratulations, the dinner and the first dance. Makes as much of an effort as he can to looks happy when he’s cutting what has to be the ugliest cake known to mankind (he doesn’t even want to try eating a slice). But it becomes a little too much a few hours later, and Patrick just wants a breather, wants to not pretend he happy about this for just five minutes. Enda follows him to the bathroom as soon as he excuses himself. He’s trying so hard not to cry, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending to be anywhere else as he’s pushed to his knees. He doesn’t fight back when his jaw is pried open, obeys when Enda simply commands “suck my cock”. He’s gotta give the guy credit where it’s due… at least he doesn’t mess around with foreplay.

Enda leaves him to clean himself up, thankfully not returning any favours when he notices Patrick isn’t aroused at all. He just gets a light slap to his cheek as Enda tells him, “there’ll be more time for that later, when you’re not so nervous. Remember, Patrick, willing or not.”

Patrick throws up as soon as Enda’s footsteps are out of earshot. He gives himself a minute to recover before forcing himself up and slipping out the bathroom to his own room. The guard that follows him clearly knows what just happened and he thankfully looks very uncomfortable about the whole thing. What it means is that he doesn’t question Patrick going to his room and he doesn’t follow him into his bedroom like he’s supposed to. Patrick makes quick work of the suit and rings, taking the time to brush his teeth and rinse his mouth out with mouth wash. He pulls a cap on and takes a look around his room one last time, making sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He slips out the window with nothing more than a pre-paid piece of shit phone, a gun tucked into the back of his jeans and the cash in his pockets and carefully stacked in a backpack. He’s unsure what’ll happen once they realise he’s gone—by then he doesn’t really care.

\--

Building an identity is a pain in the ass, but Patrick isn’t stupid even if most people he comes across think he is (the perks of being blonde he guesses, he’s constantly underestimated which gives him an advantage most of the time). His kind of crowd had always been the people that are all about fake identities, fraud and counterfeiting—smart guys that know how to stay hidden and live well below the radar. They’re also all online and he’s never met them in person. He never revealed himself, that was never the kind of thing his father had wanted him involved with and his online life has always been separate from his real one).

It’s easy to make his way from Buffalo and by the time he reaches Chicago a few months later, he’s been able to secure a new identity and all the documents to go with it (except a passport… those things cost some serious money and he’s not planning on disappearing overseas so he decides he can delay that purchase until he’s stored up enough cash again). He keeps part of his name… there are a lot of Patrick Kane’s in the world so he can sink into invisibility easily enough as long as no one recognises him. He doesn’t think that it’s likely, though—Chicago and Buffalo do _not_ get along and these days Patrick looks more like a college kid than a ranking member of a wealthy criminal organisation that’s on the run so it seems like a good place to hide.

It’s the first time in his life that he doesn’t have to answer to anyone, and he isn’t being trailed by a bodyguard or two. He feels kind of bad dodging his security, because in hindsight they’ll probably be severely punished (probably dead, let’s be honest) for letting him get away, but then he remembers being on his knees in a bathroom with one those guards standing right outside and he feels less guilty. Not much of a bodyguard if they don’t, you know, protect his body from all threats. The first thing he does after getting himself settled is enrol in college—because it’s something he’s always wanted to do but had never been allowed to (apparently him studying math or statistics just wasn’t acceptable and wouldn’t prove useful to the family—he’s still trying to figure out how tertiary education isn’t valuable, but he thinks his family doesn’t apply logic often so it’s a losing battle).

Patrick knows he’s smarter than most when it comes to numbers. There’s just something about them that always makes sense—there’s balance and beauty, and nothing quite beats the feeling of solving a particularly complex issue with a beautifully simple string of equations. But, just because he’s left his family behind in Buffalo doesn’t mean he’s not happy to dabble in a bit of criminal activity when he needs to. A boy’s gotta eat after all, and college isn’t cheap. While he’s a pro at counting cards (how can someone _not_ count cards?) he dislikes the risk of being in casinos and exercising his skills in illegal gambling houses would draw too much unwanted attention. So, he opts for running an illegal betting site and, while it takes a few months to get off the ground, once he’s able to modify the site to include a little gambling he’s got no end of stupid people willing to part with their money.

Patrick isn’t greedy though, because greed means he’ll draw the attention of the police who, in his world view, are worse than the pseudo justice system criminals abide by. At least criminals are honest about who they are… cops, not so much.

For Patrick, Chicago becomes home.

\--

The first year Patrick is in Chicago he spends a lot of time drinking. An inadvisable amount time drinking. But it’s his coping mechanism and it’s the lesser evil that is drugs (although drugs are good money—not your run of the mill shit either, prescription drugs are easier to peddle and can end up being more profitable because you deal with professionals instead of backyard drug lords).

He also makes a lot of stupid decisions when he’s drunk, like sleeping with people he probably shouldn’t and falling to his knees in the bathrooms of seedy clubs (he can only stand to have someone touch him when he’s so drunk he can’t remember himself). He gets to the point where he can’t look at himself in the mirror because he knows he looks like shit, hair a mess and dark smudges under his eyes. He looks gaunt and tired and he _is_ …he’s exhausted. He thinks it’s because he never really thought much about what happened before he left Buffalo, had kept his shit locked down tight. Now though, now he’s paying for it because he’s not dealing with everything as well as he probably should be. He feels guilty even though he’s not sure why… and there’s disappointment too, in his family and in himself. He’d put so much effort into making an opportunity for himself and he’s squandering it on sex he can’t remember having and a lot of alcohol. He’s feeling pretty pathetic and very sorry for himself. He also cries a lot—but he’s always been pretty emotional (or so his family liked to tell him) so he figures at least that’s normal at least.

So, he commits himself to his studies instead, distracting himself in a different way that’s only somewhat healthier. He can now say with certainty that a study-hangover can be equally as debilitating as an alcohol related hangover.


	2. Chapter 2

He makes friends with the sort of people that had never passed muster previously. He finds he likes them better than the friends his parents had made him have. They’re not concerned about who Patrick is or where he comes from, they’re just glad to have another person to shout them a round on a game night (Patrick discovers Chicago is just as crazy about its hockey team as Buffalo is… it’s an unexpected comfort). He only has one good friend though, Tyler Seguin—he’s smart like Patrick is, also perceptive as hell, but he guesses you need to be perceptive in that line of work. Like Patrick, he dabbles, but his main line of income is from prostitution and from what Patrick can tell, the guy is very good at his job.

The first time he sees “the guy” is… surreal. Tyler and him are tucked away in some snooty dive bar, gossiping like teenage girls (really… Patrick would be more embarrassed but the depths of Tyler’s knowledge is to be respected and he seems to know most people that need knowing) when this random guy makes an entrance, walking straight through the bar and into the back area along with two other guys in suits. He thinks he’s dreaming because whoever he is, he literally looks like he’s walked out of every one of Patrick’s fantasies—his suit tailored to sinful perfection. Patrick has a thing about guys in suits apparently—he’s all for self-discovery Chicago if it looks anything like tall, dark and handsome.

Their eyes meet briefly, but he remembers those dark brown eyes sweeping over him as he passes, and he knows he doesn’t measure up by the lack of expression and the easy dismissal. He’s met plenty of men like him, men who think Patrick isn’t worth a closer look.

Patrick wonders if he’d dressed like he used to—hair slicked back and looking like money in a designer suit—if his gaze would’ve stopped on him. Because wealth buys power, and someone that can afford to look good… well they either have money worth taking or they have money they know how to use. But that’s all behind him, suits swapped out for ill-fitting jeans and plaid (he hasn’t had to actually dress himself for years… he’s trying to find a style that works, ok?), his hair long enough to shows his curls. It’s a small comfort that he looks nothing like what he used to be—it’s a physical reminder of the person he wants to be.

“You know who that was?” Patrick asks Tyler, taking a drink of his beer.

Tyler shrugs. “Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Want me to find out?” he asks gleefully, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Nuh,” he says, shaking his head. “Just trying to figure out exactly how many people you know in this city,” he grins, nudging Tyler playfully.

“I know everyone that I need to,” Tyler says childishly as he sticks his tongue out Patrick.

Patrick has no idea why, but the guy in the sinfully cut suit sticks in his mind after that. Probably helps that he keeps popping up in odd places to remind Patrick about him.

\--

The next time Patrick sees him it’s across a crowded dancefloor of what’s probably an illegal warehouse party (he’s spotted more than one drug runner and shit like this is always a good cover for private meetings and the exchange of information). He’s drunk enough that he’s letting some guy paw at him, his face pressed into Patrick’s neck. It makes him uncomfortable, reminds him so much of Enda his stomach is starting to churn unpleasantly, though… he can only imagine what his face looks like. But he makes himself endure it because he refuses to believe his husband of less than five hours had had enough of an effect on him to ruin sex. It’s an issue, one he doesn’t want to look at too closely or acknowledge… but it’s been a year and he really just needs to _get over it_.

It’s only by chance that when Patrick makes a quick sweep of the room to see if Tyler is still around that he spots that dead-eyed stare that is pure tall, dark and handsome and it’s definitely just on trained on him, a small frown marring his features. He remembers thinking that whoever the guy was, he’s just some kind of creeper if he gets off on watching. So, Patrick decides to embarrass the fucker and he smirks, tilting his head back a little further as he meets those dark eyes, challenging. He knows what he looks like, cheeks flushed, curls a mess and his lips red and a little puffy because whoever he’s got chewing on his neck is a biter.

Yeah… he’s got all of tall, dark and handsome’s attention now and for the first time in a long time he _likes_ the attention. Wants to keep that focus on him and him alone.

The moment is broken by someone at his back and he watches as the guy (in another devastatingly cut suit, he might add) disappears into the dark corners of the warehouse. If he looks back, Patrick doesn’t know because the moment their eye contact breaks, he’s pushing away from the guy on the dancefloor. He needs to go be sick.

\--

Patrick is distracted while he ambles down the sidewalk and hastily typing out a message to the group chat (Patrick hates group assignments with an unbridled passion) while sucking on a popsicle when he literally bumps into _the guy_.

“Sorry,” he mumbles around the popsicle before looking up and then doing a double take because tall, dark and ass-that-will-turn-a-straight-man-gay is looking down at him with a frown, hand on Patrick’s elbow to steady him. Jesus the guy is tall—like Patrick isn’t exactly short, but whoever this guy is makes him feel small, but not in a bad way. His presence is… commanding? Patrick can’t put a finger on it but it’s like he wants to be in this guy’s orbit.

His eyes are fixed on Patrick’s lips (probably stained red because strawberry flavour is the shit) and Patrick… Patrick doesn’t want to choke on a fucking popsicle so he pulls it out of his mouth, licking his lips clean somewhat self-consciously, because contrary to popular belief he is not a child and he does have manners. Though… he has no problem with admitting he maybe made that move a little more obscene that it probably should have been.

“Uhhh,” Patrick says, eyes flitting around nervously, because like the guy hasn’t let him go and his laser focus is still on Patrick’s mouth and Patrick can feel the arousal pooling low and warm in his belly.

His eyes snap up to Patrick’s before he just grunts a “watch where you’re fucking walking, dumbass,” before he moves along.

“Ok, asshole,” he replies, turning to watch him go because… damn, that ass is a gift to all humankind.

\--

He’s minding his own business, thank you very much, when he feels a broad chest at his back, two arms coming around to rest either side of him as he’s trying to catch the eye of the asshole behind the bar because he’s _thirsty_ damnit. He ignores the guy—if he wanted to, he could get away easily enough. So, until the guy starts being a problem, he decides he won’t cause a scene because this club is not the kind of place he wants to be caught making a scene in (Tyler really needs to find a better hunting ground).

As far as he’s aware ‘1988’ is owned and run by some mobster, like most of the nightlife in Chicago, but when he can’t find information on the guy or the organisation running it he understands he needs to have a healthy dose of respect for them because they’ve managed to get this far while flying under the radar. In Chicago it’s barely heard of (actually… it’s barely heard of anywhere)—mobsters are worse than teenage girls and they all like gossiping and being in each other’s pockets. Part of the reason why it’s so easy to pick them off or steal from them is because nothing they ever do is all that secret.

Whoever is behind him has clearly lost their patience with being ignored because the next thing he knows the guy has leaned closer, curling around him until his lips are brushing against Patrick’s ear. Patrick ignores the shiver down his spine, but it’s so _good_.

“How much for the night?”

He’s got a slight accent that Patrick’s having trouble pinpointing but the question garners his attention enough so that he gives up on trying to get the attention of the bartender and meets the eyes of his mystery man in the mirrored wall behind the bar. Patrick tries to hide his surprise at seeing the douche-y hot guy he’s been seeing all the place the last few weeks. This is unexpected… definitely unexpected. He considers him carefully for a moment, taking in as much as he can without actually turning around. The guy is rich—he’s wearing another ridiculous suit that’s very clearly tailored to fit and probably cost more than Patrick pays for a month of rent. But then… then he registers just what the fucker asked him.

“Excuse me?” Patrick asks, eyes narrowed. _What the actual fuck?_ How in the hell does he look like a hooker? He’s in plaid and jeans that could afford to be a size or two smaller with a cap pulled on backwards to deal with his curls (because if they’re out he looks like he’s barely legal and people get creepy with him—and he’s had enough of creepy to last him a lifetime).

Segs on the other hand… Patrick realises that maybe he’s asking for Segs because they came in together and some guys can be a little nervous about Segs because he’s pretty in-your-face for a high-class hooker, so it takes a brave soul to negotiate price (most of them usually just agree and cry a little when they hand over the money). Patrick is tempted to look around and try and find Tyler who he knows is floating around the club looking for company. “I don’t know what Segs charges, so I suggest you go ask him yourself.”

Patrick is reprimanded by a sharp bite of his ear which, surprisingly, goes straight to Patrick’s dick. Patrick leans back a little into the guy’s space, not inviting further contact but not saying no either. Dimly, he realises this is the first time since he got into Chicago over a year ago that he’s felt anything bordering arousal while sober. He’s surprised enough by that fact that he lets the guy grip his hip and keep him in place as the question repeated. “How much for the night?”

Patrick turns with an indignant look on his face as he crowds up against him and shoves him back. Just another prick to add to the list, then… disappointing. He’s better off alone if this is the kind of shit he has to put up with. “I’m not a hooker, you asshole! And even if I were,” he sneers, raking his eyes up and down obviously, “you sure as hell wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

He’s not sure what surprised the guy more, Patrick shoving him hard enough to make him stumble backwards or Patrick’s reply to his proposition. Either way, he’s not sticking around to find out. He pushes away from the bar, seeking out Tyler as he goes.

He can’t find Tyler, which annoys him because he can’t leave without letting him know. They have a deal about this kind of thing—Patrick has to see him before he leaves, make sure that he’s ok and not being kept in some back room (because that had happened once and that is just a solid nope). What he does find is himself face-to-face with douche-creep again. He frowns because stalking is not cool even if being backed up into a wall by this guy is setting his blood on fire.

He crowds Patrick back against the wall and damnit if Patrick isn’t 100% on board this ship. He’s doing his weird staring thing again, just looking at Patrick glaring defiantly up at him. He’s about to ask if this guy is going to stare down at him all night when his thumb just drags across Patrick’s bottom lip before swiping back to push into the plush centre of it. Patrick’s breath hitches and his glare dissolves into something else entirely… he shouldn’t be so easy for this shit but he’s sober and this guy isn’t making him want to hurl. He’s just as intriguing to Patrick as Patrick is to him because why the fuck isn’t this guy making him want to hurl?

The iris of his eyes disappears as his pupils are blown wide when the tip of Patrick’s tongue touches his thumb and Patrick is mesmerised that he can even bring about such a strong reaction out of someone. He’s stunned when the guy pulls away with a curse, strong fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling him back through the dancefloor and into a corridor that leads to a few of the private rooms in the back. He’s unceremoniously shoved into one of those rooms and before he can gather his whereabouts the guy’s mouth is on his and yeah, Patrick thinks, this… this he can do.

It’s intoxicating coming across a person that doesn’t repulse him, so much so that he thinks _fuck it_ , and takes control of the situation, licking at the seam of his lips and moaning when their tongues meet. It’s wet and hot and Patrick wants more (so much _more_ ) so he shoves the guy back, takes a quick look around the room before manhandling him into an over-the-top black velvet couch and climbing into his lap.

His thighs are ridiculous, and Patrick will have dreams after this, about straddling the thickness of them, how they make his legs spread wide over them. Patrick isn’t going to have sex with the guy in the back of a seedy club, but a hand job is doable and quick and Patrick kind of wants to see if his dick is as big as the rest of him is. The heavy weight of the guy in his hand (his mouth kind of waters when he realises he’s big _everywhere_ ), the feeling of calloused fingers on his dick, pulling roughly but in a way that still makes Patrick’s toes curl in pleasure. It’s rushed and messy and they get off panting into each other’s mouths but it’s everything Patrick thought he’d lost and he _wants_ , wants with a desperation he didn’t know he had.

A knock on the door interrupts them, pulling them out of whatever this was. Patrick let’s out a noise of protest as he’s summarily shoved sideways off the guy’s lap and he lands in the plush cushions of the couch. Patrick watches as he cleans himself off with a conveniently placed box of tissues before tucking himself back into his pants and making himself presentable. Patrick follows his lead as soon as the box of tissues is dropped onto his chest, a non-verbal command to sort his shit out.

The guy opens the door a crack, voice low and lost in the bass of the music thrumming through the club. Whatever it is, he looks kind of pissed off at the interruption, but he nods and then looks back Patrick.

“Stay,” he orders, before slipping out of the room.

Shooting the closed door a disgusted look Patrick books it out of the club, waving at Tyler as he goes (the fucker is tucked into a booth in a VIP section), thankful to get away from the noise and the press of bodies.

He has a small moment of regret as he carefully makes his way home. Whoever that was had been exactly his type, and something tells him that the sex that would’ve followed if he had stayed would have been phenomenal. But… Patrick sadly has a little too much self-respect and his memory is haunted by his knees on fucking marble floor that probably cost more than his dowry—he doesn’t respond to orders all that well, especially when he’s spoken to like he’s a fucking pet. He should never have gone out, he sighs, pulling his cap off and running a hand through his messy curls.


	3. Chapter 3

Patrick wakes up with no hangover which is good but also somewhat disappointing… he feels unsettled about being able to remember the previous night. His dick is already half hard and it twitches in interest as he remembers the feel of someone else’s hand, of a mouth coaxing him into submission. He startles when his alarm sounds loudly in the room and his hand shoots out from under the covers to reach for his phone and shut off the alarm. There’s a message from Tyler probably bitching him out for ditching without saying goodbye properly, but he does it often enough that Tyler should be used to it by now.

_Uhhh dude… did you meet anyone last night?_

Patrick frowns at the question. Had Tyler seen what had happened? Tyler knows enough to know that Patrick doesn’t pick up unless he’s blind drunk and doesn’t appreciate the attention when he’s too sober. _I mean… I ran into some dickhead? So… yes?_

He drops his phone to the bed and stretches languidly. He’s got nothing pressing to do for the day with exams being over, so technically he can lie in, but he has a few errands to run and he should hit the gym anyway and see how his website is doing. It tends to run itself, and Patrick has minions in Romania that keep things ticking along nicely (they’re worth every fucking penny), but he still likes to check things every day and make sure everything is continuing along smoothly.

He’s just settled at the kitchen bench, bowl of cereal and his laptop in front of him, when his phone pings with a message.

_Holy shit lol Pat—only you! Anyway… some guy came sniffing around last night asking about you. They must’ve seen us go in together but still… it was weird and I know you’re not a fan of weird_

_Yeah_ , Patrick agrees, it is pretty fucking weird to have that level of interest from someone… especially someone that looks as good as that asshole had. _And..?_ he replies as he logs in and starts looking over the update his lead minion had sent him. He ignores the other e-mails, they’re from his sisters updating him on what’s going on back home. He never replies, he has other, safer ways of letting his sisters know how he’s going, but he knows they’re too lazy to use anything other than e-mail when they don’t have his number.

_…and I think that the guy is connected? He came from the back office Pat. The guy that sought me out wasn’t asking about you because he was interested. My guess is he was asked to find out more about you… so like watch your back yeah?_

That makes Patrick pause for thought. He tries to keep a low profile and avoid drawing a lot of attention to himself, so it makes him uncomfortable to have someone trying to find him, even if it is just for sex. At the end of the day, the less people know about him the better. Also, he’s uneasy about the whole situation because he doesn’t want to end up with another Enda on his hands… not that tall, dark and mysterious seemed like he was a geriatric asshole… he was just a plain old asshole.

_What did you say?_

_He gave me a grand Pat… you know I need the money_

_For what? What did you give him?_

_Your name, Peekaboo ;)_ Tyler eventually replies.

Could be worse, Patrick guesses. Tyler gave him the nickname and it’s one of his handles when he’s online because it’s so unrelatable and stupid he likes to think no one would connect his online persona with him (if anything, by the amount of disgusting shit he gets online he thinks everyone assumes he’s some 12 year old girl). Plus, Tyler doesn’t know his full name and there are plenty of Patrick Kane’s around that it’d be near impossible to track him down even if he _had_ given them the name. He knows—he’d looked it up to make sure he wouldn’t need to change his name to disappear in this city, to disappear from his family.

Although, he guesses, it might be enough to raise a red flag if they connected the dots. He’s hidden himself well enough, but he knows Enda has been hunting for him. He’s seen the less than discrete messages popping up in shady chatrooms and his sisters let him know about the aftermath of his timely escape. Unless his body turns up somewhere, he doubts the guy is ever going to get over it. It was a huge insult that probably demands death, or worse, in retaliation. There has to be a reason why unwilling family matriarchs don’t disappear even when given the opportunity.

\--

Patrick is wary following his encounter with tall, dark and mysterious so he bows out of going out to bars and clubs with Tyler for the time being. Tyler doesn’t question it, just squeezing his shoulder with an understanding smile as Patrick suggests they go somewhere for dinner instead. He probably assumes it’s related to that issue they don’t talk about but that he knows Tyler is aware of.

Tyler keeps quiet as they’re seated in their usual booth at the diner around the corner from Pat’s place. He’s good at reading people, good enough to know that Pat wants to get something off his chest. But Patrick has always been an unknown quantity and he rarely says anything, especially when he gets this pensive. Best to stay quiet and see what way the conversation will go when dealing with this.

“It was just a surprise, you know?” Patrick starts as he looks out the window onto the street.

“A hot guy wanting your hot body for the night? Pull the other leg, Pat,” replies Tyler.

“Uhhh… yes, that too, I guess? But the surprising part I was referring to was me being turned on.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow as he briefly considers that tid-bit of information. “It’s ok to want casual sex, Patrick,” he replies eventually, waving the bored-looking waitress over. He resolutely does not want to think about why Patrick hasn’t been turned on by another guy for the last year (while sober anyway).

They order their usual—some ridiculous ‘house special’ salad with dressing on the side for Tyler (because it takes hard work to look like God himself chiselled you from marble) and a burger and fries for Patrick (honestly he’s not even sure how he manages to look as good as he does given he eats so much junk).

Patrick doesn’t reply until their food is in front of them and he’s dipped a fry in Tyler’s creamy salad dressing. Tyler turns his nose up in disgust—who in the hell thinks fries and salad dressing is an appropriate combination?

“I know,” Patrick says eventually. “It’s just… something left over from pre-Chicago, I guess. I’ve gotta be careful.”

“You ever gonna tell me who you’re running from, Pat? Is Pat even your real name?”

Patrick shrugs, like he’d pointed out previously, Tyler is perceptive as hell. “It doesn’t matter, Segs. It’s my real name now and that’s all that matters.”

Tyler quirks an eyebrow in disbelief but lets it drop. Sometimes he wonders exactly what Patrick got involved in to make him this paranoid… but then he knows it’s probably best for all involved if he didn’t know. Information in a world like theirs could be just as dangerous as any gun.

“His name’s Jonny, by the by,” Tyler smiles, shoving a forkful of lettuce into his mouth. “He looks for you whenever he sees me.”

Patrick files that way for later, even nicknames are useful. He tries not to feel flattered at being sought after even after all these weeks—having all of that attention focused on him should make him feel uncomfortable, but he remembers those dark eyes and he remembers how it felt having all that focus narrowed in on him. Patrick chews on bottom lip in thought.

“Yeeeeeeeeah boy,” Tyler croons unapologetically with a wide grin. “Get some!”

Patrick shakes his head, smiling. “Nuh,” he replies. “It’s better for everyone if I stay away.”

Because on the one hand, Patrick understands that he’ll be up shit creek without a paddle if the Meagher family ever track him down. But if they catch him with someone else? He’ll be up shit creek without a paddle and whoever that other person is will be dead, probably after being subjected to a bit of torture for shits and giggles because that’s just the kind of asshole Enda is.

‘Jonny’ doesn’t bring up much when he eventually goes looking—the name is too generic to be useful. Sadly, his alias isn’t as generic and he’s picked up on some very discrete enquiries about ‘Peekaboo’ online. He’s surprised and again, he’s left feeling a little flattered. He knows that that had been… unexpected and hot, but he hadn’t realised he’d made enough of an impact to warrant being sought after.

\--

The next time he sees Tyler he’s exhausted. His week had been spent going between a ridiculous group project (for which, he rightly assumes, he’ll end up doing all the work) and two tests that felt more like exams. There was a question in one of the tests that has him thinking as well—he’s not sure he got it right and it’s been bothering him ever since. He wants to see what the fucking answer is and work backwards to figure out what he thinks he got wrong.

When Patrick answers his door he’s not expecting the bouquet of red roses that gets shoved under his nose. Patrick is puzzled. He looks up at Tyler questioningly but let’s slip a hesitant “thank you?” as he takes them. Tyler pushes passed him into the apartment, dumping a bag full of takeout containers on Patrick’s kitchen bench before turning to him and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“They’re not from me,” Tyler says, a lascivious grin on his face. “They came with a card,” he adds, pulling a white envelope from his jacket and handing it to Patrick as well.

“Since when do you play errand boy? I thought you were better than that?” Patrick is still feeling a little dumbstruck by the flowers. They’re beautiful—two dozen red roses with not a blemish in sight. He smiles as he presses his nose to the petals.

“Well… let’s just say they gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” Tyler shrugs, turning around and starting to dig through drawers and cabinets for plates and cutlery. “Beer?”

Patrick nods in reply before seeking out a vase. Once he’s happy with the arrangement he takes the envelope and looks at it thoughtfully. He’s almost afraid of what he’ll find—he has nightmares, sometimes, of being lulled into complacency and having Enda or his minions just turn up on his doorstep.

“You going to open it or just stare at it?”

Patrick startles at the interruption. “Have you read it?”

Tyler shoots him a dirty look in reply, piling his plate high with Thai food. “And ruin the romance? What the hell do you take me for?”

“Someone who knows they’ll probably be kneecapped if they opened a letter that wasn’t addressed to them?”

Tyler shrugs it off. “Eh, you say tom-ay-to, I say tom-ah-to,” he replies.

Patrick slips the envelope into the pocket of his hoodie before dishing up food for himself. He grabs his beer before following Tyler to the couch and flicking on a game of hockey. For the first time in his life, he’s actually cheering for a team other than Buffalo. But, he guesses as he watches the Blackhawks, this is just another one of the many things that’s changed as he’s settled into a new life.

As soon as the game is over, Tyler slips out making his excuses (he loves sex and he makes money off it so who is he to deny the guy). Patrick knows that on a Friday night after a ‘hawks win Tyler is likely to pull in some decent cash, so he just nods in understanding, watching as Tyler pulls on his coat and scarf and disappears.

Patrick sighs tiredly as he cleans up their dishes. It’s only when he’s pulling his hoodie off to crawl into bed that he remembers the envelope.

Sitting on the edge of the mattress he rips the envelope open, pulling out a simple card that just says _I want you again - J_

Patrick smiles and flips the card over, but there’s nothing on the other side. He’d never thought he’d enjoy being wooed for sex (no one’s ever tried to woo him before, for sex or otherwise), but there’s a part of him that revels under the attention. He’s not going to respond, wouldn’t even know how to anyway, but he looks forward to seeing what Jonny comes up with next.

\--

The flowers keep coming for the next couple of weeks—every time Patrick sees Tyler there’s a new bouquet and a card that’s simply signed _J_. He’s run out of vases and Tyler is getting grouchy about being an errand boy so Patrick caves when Tyler suggests going back to 1988 so he can tell Jonny to stop sending him flowers to try to convince him to have sex with him.

“Before we get there… you’re ok with this right?” Tyler asks, turning up the collar of his coat at the biting November wind. “His team are scary motherfuckers but I can pass on the message to fuck off if you need me to.”

Tyler isn’t aware of Patrick’s history so he doesn’t know that Patrick is completely capable of handling these sorts of people, will probably do a better job of negotiating a cease-fire than Tyler ever could. But he appreciates that Tyler would be willing to try—he’s never had that in a friend before.

“It’s ok,” Patrick replies, burying his nose into his scarf. “I’ll handle it. Thanks, though.”

Tyler just grins in reply as they join the line outside the club.

Patrick’s made a bit of effort tonight—there’s no cap hiding his curls and he’s opted for a pair of jeans that actually fit properly and hug his ass (rather well according to Tyler). They lose themselves on the dancefloor for a while and it’s barely two hours in when he notices Tyler pulling along an unwitting customer to the back rooms. Patrick takes that as his cue to get another drink and take a break from the throng of people. He heads to the bar upstairs where it’s quieter and he can hear himself think. After getting himself a beer, he proceeds to lean against the banister, looking out over the dancefloor.

He knows he’s been watched from the moment he stepped into the club and he isn’t disappointed when Jonny appears. His presence is… all-consuming? Patrick struggles to find the words to explain Jonny. He’s not being touched, but Patrick feels like he’s been crowded against the bannister. He guesses Jonny must be pretty high up the ladder when he can command the attention of everyone in the room just by breathing. Patrick usually wouldn’t mind, he knows he’s attracted to power and competence, but two goons casually place themselves in his line of sight so he feels like there’s no chance for escape and Patrick really doesn’t like to feel trapped, especially by assholes that think he’s easy. Vaguely he realises that he probably has a lot more baggage from his former life than he’d realised.

“Jonathon,” Patrick greets flatly. He looks pointedly at both guards, before turning his focus back on Jonny.

Jonny looks surprised that he’s even noticed them—he guesses they were supposed to be blending in, but they really aren’t doing a very good job. At Jonny’s signal, they melt back into the crowd and Patrick feels like he can take a breath. He knows that it doesn’t make a difference, but out of sight, out of mind right? He feels more relaxed without seeing them hovering, as if they’re waiting for him.

“Better?” he asks.

He has yet to touch Patrick and he’s not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing. He lands on good after a moment of contemplation—better to play this game with someone that appears to respect boundaries. He wonders if Jonny would still respect those boundaries if he knew who Patrick was, what he represented.

“Much,” Patrick replies, turning his gaze back onto the dancefloor. He _wants_ but he also knows this is a supremely bad idea and the inner conflict is making him play hard-to-get. It would be better for everyone concerned if Jonny went and found himself someone else, _anyone_ else. “Thank you for the flowers,” he says, a smile gracing his lips. “They’re beautiful.”

Jonny looks ridiculously pleased with himself but doesn’t respond. Patrick isn’t sure how to proceed—he doesn’t know if this is a one-night stand thing or if he was supposed to read into this whole thing more than he had. He hates that part of him wants the flowers to mean something… he’s never been pursued, never been wooed. His sex life had revolved around stolen moments in seedy clubs and posh hotels with one-night stands—his family hadn’t been great about accepting his sexuality up until the point it became useful as a bargaining chip which was right around the time Enda had come looking for an alliance.

“You’re very beautiful,” Jonny says eventually, hand reaching up to tug at one of Patrick’s curls.

Patrick almost rolls his eyes because the guy is clearly not all that great at the flirting thing—but, he finds the combination of what’s likely a criminal mastermind and the lack of ability to flirt endearing. It’s going to become a problem, Patrick can already tell. He lets his eyes rake slowly up and down the lines of his body encased in another wonderful suit (this guy must have one hell of a wardrobe) before he picks up his drink and takes a sip. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

The asshole looks as smug as fuck at that, pressing a hand in the small of Patrick’s back as he leans forward to whisper in his ear. Patrick’s eyes fall closed and he tries to suppress the shiver as he feels lips brush his ear.

“Spend the night with me?”

“Not going to try to pay me again?” Patrick asks before taking a sip of his drink.

Jonny doesn’t bat an eye at being called out for thinking Pat was a hooker. He just stares down at Patrick with these intense shark eyes that has Patrick’s dick twitch with imagining the possibilities. Patrick would usually be uncomfortable with this level of attention solely on him, but with Jonny it makes his blood heat instead.

Patrick starts to chew on his bottom lip as he weighs up the pros and cons of this endeavour—on the one hand, Jonny looks like he could hold Patrick up against a wall and fuck him into a mess (and Patrick so desperately wants _messy_ ) but on the other hand he’s been so careful to avoid people like Jonny.

“You gonna tell me your name, Jonny?” Patrick asks instead. He looks confused for a minute, like he was distracted by Patrick swiping his tongue over his chewed bottom lip. He knows Patrick is fishing for a last name.

“Just Jonny,” he says as he slips his hand a little lower, the tips of fingers trailing across where Patrick’s back meets the swell of his ass. His voice is low and dirty, and Patrick feels like he’s being hypnotised—maybe he should be worried that his drink was spiked but he thinks it’s just down to sexual tension. God, he realises, if this is what happens when he’s been off the market for just over a year maybe he’d better do something about it. He can’t go around getting weak at the knees for any guy that chats him up for longer than five minutes.

“Where?” Patrick asks, eventually turning his head so meet those dark eyes. They’re so close their noses brush and their breathe mingles. Patrick could just press up and…

“There’s a hotel nearby,” Jonny says, brushing his fingers lightly up and down Patrick’s arm.

“What’s in it for me?” Patrick asks, just to be a dick. Gotta make the guy work for it because Patrick plans on sucking this guy’s dick so hard he can’t string a sentence together.

Johnny smirks as he replies, “my dick.”

Patrick feels like the breath has just been punched out of him. Jonny is like a perfect blend of hot, arrogant, snarky asshole that has him ready to get to his knees and pant for more. “Yeah,” Patrick replies breathily. “Yeah, ok.”

"Glad you agree,” he replies, still looking smug as he backs away.

The next thing Patrick knows, he’s got his coat and he’s being pushed through the crowd and into a waiting car by the firm hand at the small of his back. Being manhandled like this shouldn’t be a turn on, but clearly, it’s a thing that Patrick’s dick is into.

The ride to the hotel is short but Patrick’s eyes are blown and cheeks red when they pull up because Jonny has been tracing his fingers up and down the inner seam of Patrick’s jeans. Whoever sees them in the lobby of the hotel is so totally going to know what they’re there for—he should be embarrassed but Patrick kinda wants to show off landing someone as hot as Jonny.

They don’t stop at the front desk to get a key, Johnny just shuffles him quickly across the lobby and into the next empty lift. Patrick, despite being a little drunk on lust, makes note of all these small details. Jonny is clearly someone he should know about in the Chicago underground, especially given the two guards lurking around down the corridor. It’s weird that someone with enough money to have a standing reservation at a classy hotel wouldn’t have popped up on Patrick’s radar before.

Jonny crowds him against the door as soon as it shuts behind them, tilting Patrick’s chin up so his blue eyes meet his. He pauses, searching for something in Patrick’s expression and he must find whatever it is he’s looking for because he presses his lips against Patrick’s. He’s expecting this to be fast, but Jonny slows everything right down, dipping in to drink sweet kisses from Patrick’s lips. By the time Jonny licks into his mouth, Patrick is flushed and hard and moaning. They kiss slow and dirty, Jonny’s hand winding its way into Patrick’s curls and tugging gently to make him move with the kiss. It’s fucking filthy is what it is, especially when Jonny shifts his hips and Patrick can feel the hard line of his dick pressed against his hip.

Jonny pulls back, his eyes dark as he presses his thumb into Patrick’s plush and spit slick bottom lip. Patrick is breathing heavily, eyes half lidded as his tongue darts out to taste tip of Jonny’s thumb before sucking it into his mouth.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Jonny mutters as he pulls away. “Bedroom,” he orders, wrapping his fingers around Patrick’s wrist and pulling him behind. Turns out Patrick is really into being manhandled, but… Patrick remembers his promise to himself from earlier… he wants this guy’s dick in his mouth like yesterday, so he breaks Jonny’s hold on him and pushes him back until the backs of Jonny’s knees hit the bed.

Patrick immediately, and really fucking gracefully might he add, drops to his knees between Jonny’s spread thighs. Not breaking eye contact, he runs his hands up and down Jonny’s thighs, enjoying their thickness and strength. Clearly the guy works out and Patrick wants to show some appreciation for the effort. Maybe he’ll get to ride those thighs later, he thinks wistfully. Eventually, Patrick’s hands make quick work of Jonny’s shoes and pants and he presses the flat of his tongue against the head of Jonny’s still covered dick, revelling in the reaction it draws.

Jonny’s hands are kind of flailing, like he’s not sure where to put them, as Patrick slowly pulls his underwear down behind his balls and his perfect dick just springs out, tapping Patrick’s chin. Patrick’s mouth waters—Jonny is long and thick and Patrick wants to feel that in him, knows he’d feel so _full_. Patricks lets his lips drag across of the head of Jonny’s dick, smirking as he hears Jonny curse.

“Fuck… _fuck_ ,” Jonny breathes. “Just suck already you fucking tease.”

Patrick doesn’t hesitate as he swallows Jonny’s dick down. It’s been a while, and his voice is going to be fucked, but he wants to feel the head of Jonny’s dick at the back of his throat. Jonny lets out a low groan, hands eventually finding their way into Patrick’s curls as he swallows around Jonny’s dick. His dick is so big, Patrick’s mouth stretched wide, and the wet sounds as he licks, sucks and swallows as much of Jonny as he can is making Patrick _burn_. Patrick takes it as a compliment that Jonny is coming down his throat only a few minutes later.

“Get up here,” Jonny orders. Patrick complies, pulling off his clothes before seating himself on Jonny’s hips and leaning down for a toe-curling kiss.

Patrick licks into Jonny’s mouth, sharing lazy kisses as Jonny’s hand wraps around his dick and starts tugging. God, he’s not going to last long either at the rate they’re going. He feels like a teenager, unable to exercise enough patience to get to the part where he’s riding Jonny’s dick. He lets out a sigh as he spills over Jonny’s hand. He feels punch drunk and all he wants to do now is trade lazy kisses with Jonny until they’re ready for round two.

Jonny is stroking his fingers up and down his spine when they both startle at the knock on the door. Jonny swears (in what Patrick thinks is French), getting up and pulling on a robe as he digs around in the clothes on the floor for his phone. Patrick doesn’t bother to listen in on the hushed voices, it’s probably one of those situations where the less he knows the better off he’ll be. He hears the door shut and watches as Jonny starts gathering his clothes before heading into the bathroom and pulling closed the door behind him, locking it. Patrick hears the shower turn on with a frown, disappointed with the sudden turn of events. Does that mean they’re done? The closed bathroom door definitely isn’t an invitation, in fact… Patrick’s stomach drops uncomfortably as he realises, it’s just as blunt as a dismissal. No second, or even third, round then.

He shakes off the unexpected hurt because it’s not as if he hadn’t known what he was getting into anyway and it’s not as if this kind of thing hasn’t happened before. Still, he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut to will away the burning of his eyes, he had thought… and somehow even though this had been choice and his wedding night hadn’t, he suddenly feels just as dirty and used as he had then.

He sighs, those fucking flowers had planted a little seed of ‘this could be more than just sex’, that this guy would be different, would want him for more than just a quick fuck. He shakes his head, he’s such a fucking romantic and he’s starting to hate that he is. Maybe he needs to take a page from Jonny’s book and get into one-night stands and casual hook-ups instead of trying to hope for something more. Maybe he just needs to stay away from the people in his own crowd. Sitting up, he wipes himself clean with a corner of the sheet before pulling his clothes on quickly. He pauses as he slips his phone into his pocket, glancing at the closed bathroom door. It takes more than Patrick will ever admit to, to walk away and slip out the room.

There’s only one guard now and it’s easy enough for Patrick to slip away without him noticing, he’s had years of practice escaping guards after all. Given the events of the night, Patrick takes the long way home to make sure no one is following him. He’s tired and hungry and he just wants to curl up because he’s cold and hurt too even though he shouldn’t be.

Patrick hates himself for thinking it, but the unbidden thought always pops up in these situations anyway—what’s so wrong with him that someone wouldn’t even bother taking the time to look beneath the surface?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Appreciating the love I'm getting for this fic!  
> Just a heads up that I currently have no beta so if you spot a typo, my bad!
> 
> \--

Patrick has a ‘normal’ job in addition to his side business. He’d come to the realisation he had to have some kind of semblance of a normal college life after a few weeks at college. Primarily, he needs some kind of explanation for where his money comes from so that people won’t become too curious. He never mentions any family, just shrugs and changes the subject when he’s asked about them—better for people to think it’s an uncomfortable topic or they’re dead than let them know the truth.

His normal job consists of picking up a few shifts a week at a small independent coffee shop near campus called the _Vanilla Bean_. He’s a quick learner, efficient, and never miscalculates change so the manager often disappears when he’s around. Patrick likes the place because it’s quiet and, despite being close to the campus, isn’t crowded with students. It gives him time to study between customers and he likes the relaxed pace of the place. Also, it helps that the coffee beans here are good and he knows how not to burn the life out of coffee.

Occasionally, when he’s bored and has nothing better to do, Tyler will come in (because when Patrick is feeling generous, he gets free coffee and a ridiculously healthy and fun-free muffin). But Patrick notes an hour after Tyler has disappeared, that he’s not as careful about coming here than he is about when he goes to Patrick’s place. It’s a thing Tyler thinks is odd, but he takes Patrick’s paranoia on with a shrug and always makes sure not to be followed whenever he heads over to Patrick’s apartment.

He’s scribbling in the margins of his textbook (because the textbook is just _wrong_ , clearly the authors are dumbasses) when he’s interrupted by the bell over the door indicating someone new has come in. He takes a moment to finish his notes before looking up and almost wishes he’d looked up sooner, so he’d have been able to slip out the back and take his break before Jonny could make it to the counter.

“You know,” he says, crossing his arms defensively and giving Jonny a very unimpressed look, “this is kinda bordering on stalking now buddy. Not cool, just in case you were wondering.”

Jonny is frowning down at the textbook and completely ignores Patrick’s greeting. “You’re a student?”

“Relax, _Jonathon_ ,” Patrick snaps, closing his textbook and pushing it out of the way. “I promise I’m old enough to drink and have consensual sex.”

“I wasn’t…” he trails off, looking like he isn’t entirely sure if he’s uncomfortable or pissed off about being called out.

“Sure you weren’t,” Patrick agrees. “What can I get for you?”

“I’m not here for coffee.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not on break so either order something or take a seat and wait it out,” Patrick replies.

Patrick notes, with amusement, that Jonny looks _very_ angry at his reply, but the suit behind him looks grudgingly impressed.

Jonny looks over his shoulder and gestures him forward to place an order. Patrick recognises the guy, is starting to think he’s less bodyguard and more someone that’s part of Jonny’s inner circle. He’s stupidly good looking too and whenever he sees Patrick he always has this dumbass smirk on his face, so Patrick just dislikes the guy on principle.

“I’m not going to talk to you before my break and unless you buy something, Jonny,” he says, tilting his head and shooting him his best customer service smile.

“Yo, dude. Fucking order a drink or move along, kinda in a hurry here,” a girl snipes from behind Jonny.

Patrick wants to laugh, because Jonny looks like he really wants to shoot someone, preferably everyone that’s making him have to wait for what he wants (but then Patrick isn’t entirely sure what he wants in the first place and he’s not sure he wants to find out either, so the asshole can wait).

“Whatever he’s having,” Jonny eventually says through clenched teeth.

Patrick doesn’t blink at the $100 bill he’s slipped, Jonny walking away. Patrick frowns—flashing cash and tipping well isn’t going to buy him but he drops the change into the tip jar anyway and takes the girl’s order as she’s tapping her foot impatiently. He makes her drink first and she smiles in thanks when she swipes the takeaway cup out of his hand, practically taking off at a run to get out of the shop.

It’s another twenty minutes before Patrick takes pity on Jonny and takes his break. Jonny is just sitting at a table near the counter and doing that staring thing at Patrick, coffee untouched in front of him. It’s unnerving, but Patrick makes himself ignore it and go about his work as usual.

When his colleague comes in from the back to cover him for his break, he reluctantly takes the seat across from Jonny.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Patrick says, childish. He sighs, leaning back and crossing his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. “What do you want, Jonny?”

Jonny considers him for a moment, fingers tapping idly on the table. “You’re a difficult person to find.”

Patrick nods, shrugging. He knows. “You had Tyler followed then?”

“Can’t seem to keep track of you so he seemed like the easier option,” Jonny says nonchalantly.

“What do you want?” Patrick repeats the question.

“Your fucking name for a start,” Jonny replies, eyes narrowed.

“And?” Patrick asks.

Jonny leans into Patrick’s space, lowering his voice as he says, “I want to fuck you so hard you can’t remember your name. You left before I could have you,” he accuses Patrick.

Patrick feels that statement like a punch to the gut. Jonny’s eyes haven’t left his the whole time they’ve been talking and Patrick knows Jonny has made note of his reaction. He can feel his cheeks warming with a blush, and he knows his pupils must be blown wide with arousal. He shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortably aware that he’s about a proposition away from popping a boner in his workplace.

They say opportunity knocks once but temptation leans on the doorbell. Patrick guesses the situation he finds himself in currently might be what they were getting at because he knows Jonny is all temptation but he also knows he’s a _very_ bad idea. Either way, someone is going to end up hurt and it’ll probably be Patrick because he’s a fucking sap and something about Jonny makes him want _more_.

“No,” he says quietly, looking away from Jonny.

Jonny’s hand shoots out quickly, gripping Patrick’s chin tight, as if Jonny’s issuing him some kind of warning. Jonny tilts his face back towards himself until Patrick meets his eyes. Patrick tries to jerk his head away, but Jonny’s fingers tighten instead, and Patrick doesn’t want to cause a scene because _this is where he works_. Patrick doesn’t appreciate displays of power like this and his upper lip curls back in disgust.

“Can’t take no for an answer, Jonny?” he taunts stupidly. “What’re you gonna do, huh?” The ‘ _make me?_ ’ is left unsaid, but Patrick knows he’s hit a nerve when Jonny drops his hold on Patrick immediately and leans back quickly.

“Everything ok?”

Patrick starts when Stacey drops a coffee in front of him, he’d forgotten she was still lurking around the counter.

“Fine, thanks,” Patrick smiles reassuringly at her.

She grins and shoots him a wink in reply before melting back into his peripheral.

“We can’t do this here,” Jonny mutters, annoyed by the interruption. “Have dinner with me,” he says, not asking, but demanding.

“Why?” Patrick challenges. “You’re just here for a quick fuck, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not playing that game with you.”

“Have dinner with me, please,” Jonny tries again, asking instead of ordering.

“ _Why_?” Patrick repeats, suddenly tired. He really needs to get back to his shift, but Stacey will cover for him, probably thinks his on some kind of tinder meet-up. Vaguely he realises that Jonny and his friend a few tables away probably look very intimidating to 19-year-old art major (he’s also suddenly very proud of Stacey for having the balls to interrupt them).

“Because it’s the least I deserve after having you run out on me twice,” Jonny glares at him, “and apparently I can’t fuck the answers out of you so we’ll try this instead and see if I can’t convince you to warm my bed for a while.”

“Just dinner?” Patrick asks, eyes narrowing at Jonny.

Jonny puts his hands up in surrender as he agrees with a resigned sigh, “just dinner.”

“Fine. My shift finishes in three hours, I’ll meet you out front. I suggest you find somewhere nearby because I’m not getting in a car with you and your goon,” he replies, jerking his head towards the guy currently throwing sugar packets into his empty coffee cup (what a waste… seriously, that’s so fucking rude). Patrick leaves the table without waiting for a reply, slipping behind the counter and giving Stacey another reassuring smile.

Jonny looks at him appraisingly before standing and leaving the coffee shop without glancing back.

“Who was _that_? Jesus Pat… he’s ridiculously hot. Please tell me you get to tap that ass on the regular? I need to live vicariously through you considering my love life looks more like a train wreck than mister take me baby, oh yes, oh yes.”

Patrick laughs, though he’s not sure what to say. “A friend?”

“Friends don’t look at you like they want to eat you,” she deadpans.

Patrick has nothing to say to that so instead he picks up a cloth and goes back out front to pick up clear the now empty tables.

\--

When Patrick walks out of the _Vanilla Bean_ after his shift Jonny is waiting patiently, leaning back against a plain black sedan. The goon squad that usually accompanies him have made them themselves scarce for once, but Patrick looks around and spots them (a new one’s popped up now… yay) about half a block away trying to look inconspicuous.

"Patrick," he says as his eyes sweep over Jonny from head to toe. The guy is unfairly attractive with the bonus of being exactly Patrick’s type. He should really look deeply into himself to explain the attraction to ‘good looking assholes on a power trip’.

"What?"

"Thought you might want to know the name of the guy you're sitting down to dinner with," Patrick replies, walking toward him until he’s standing in front of Jonny.

Jonny smiles down at him and nods, as if getting a name has somehow meant he’s won the battle. "No last name?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," Patrick shoots back smartly, shrugging and pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah,” Patrick says at Jonny’s silence, “that’s what I thought.”

Jonny snorts in reply but just looks resigned. Patrick is a step ahead of him so far, and Patrick can tell it's starting to annoy him.

"You taking me to dinner or what? It's cool either way," Patrick says with a shrug, understanding. "I'm not everyone's cup of tea when I open my mouth."

"Your mouth is what got you here in the first place," he replies, his gaze flicking to Patrick's lips.

"I wasn't aware my dick-sucking skills were so noteworthy."

"You're not entirely wrong. Come on, there's a place just around the corner. No car, as requested," he replies, giving Patrick a mocking bow before gesturing to the side and starting to walk.

Patrick frowns, watching Jonny walk away for a second. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he doesn’t think it was this. This easy back and forth with a little flirtation thrown into the mix.

"Are you coming or not?" Jonny calls over his shoulder when he realises Patrick isn’t following.

Patrick quickly catches up with him, shoulders brushing as they walk to a nearby diner. It’s quiet which, Patrick can attest to, is a rarity. It's usually busy given the proximity to the college and the cheap menu and Patrick is suddenly uneasy about how few people are around. As soon as they're seated in a booth (corner spot for Jonny so he can see the whole diner from his viewpoint, typical mob paranoia at its best) Patrick hears Jonny's tail slip in and seat themselves near the door. It's a gesture of privacy that he would normally appreciate, but it still makes Patrick feel like he’s trapped, like this will be less of a dinner and more of an ultimatum where he’s not going to be allowed to say no.

"They follow you everywhere?" asks Patrick, not bothering to gesture to where they're seated.

Jonny's gaze flicks to them and then back to Patrick, but he doesn't reply, and Patrick doesn't expect him to. He shouldn’t have asked, he realises. If Jonny thinks he's just a normal kid on the block, Patrick shouldn’t have noticed them, and neither can he really explain his two shadows. They don’t blend in well by Patrick’s standards, but he supposes if he didn’t have his history, he probably wouldn’t have even realised they were there. It’s enough to catch Jonny’s attention though and Patrick wants to kick himself for saying anything.

"Who are you?" asks Jonny, gaze heavy on Patrick as if sizing him up.

Patrick waits as a waitress slips two menus onto the table before he replies. "Just a guy trying to make it through college," he says, perusing the menu. He can’t pull off ‘innocent’ very well so hiding his face with a menu works just as well.

The silence is telling, Jonny knows he’s hiding something but so is he, so he’s not in a position to call Patrick out on his bullshit.

“What are you studying?” Jonny lands on instead.

“Statistics,” Patrick replies, putting his menu down to look at Jonny.

He looks dumbfounded for a second, as if Patrick has just revealed the world is round. “Really?”

“I’m smarter than I look,” Patrick comments drily, propping his chin in his hand and observing Jonny as he comes to terms with the fact that Patrick is basically a math genius.

The waitress interrupts them before Jonny has a chance to break the awkward silence. Patrick pulls a face at Jonny’s order of a kale salad and grilled steak—not on the menu, but the waitress writes it down carefully anyway. Guess they knew who was coming to dinner, he muses silently.

“What?” Jonny asks.

“Nothing,” Patrick smiles, “just sitting here judging your super healthy off-the-menu order.”

“I don’t know how you can stomach that crap,” Jonny says defensively, referring to Patricks order of a cheeseburger and fries.

Patrick just grins in reply, nudging Jonny’s ankle playfully. “You can’t tell me you never indulge.”

Turns out Jonny can’t pull off ‘innocent’ either, his expression has Patrick throwing his head back with laughter. When he eventually quiets down, Jonny’s face is back to being serious and his focus is entirely on Patrick. Patrick squirms a little under the steely gaze, looking out the window in an attempt to distract himself. It doesn’t work so he blurts out, “what about you? What do you do?”

Jonny quirks an eyebrow in Patrick’s direction, and Patrick knows he’s wondering why Patrick asked when he knows the reply will be a lie. “I’m a business consultant,” Jonny says.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“It has its moments,” Jonny says agreeably. “It certainly isn’t boring.”

Patrick nods, going quiet again. Everything about this is so awkward but Jonny wants him here, so here he is.

They’re quiet through the rest of their dinner and Patrick politely shakes his head when asked if he’d like dessert.

“What do you want with me?” asks Patrick carefully, eventually breaking under Jonny’s stare. Jonny hasn’t asked for the bill yet so they’re just sitting in silence now. It’s awkward as fuck but also… Patrick feels coiled tight, like he’s anticipating something but he’s not entirely sure what.

Jonny tilts his head, as if he’s really taking his time to formulate a reply. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?”

Patrick flushes immediately. Jesus, that’s one way for him to dive straight into the deep end. He knows he’s not horrible to look at, but he could be considered short by some and his curls are annoyingly difficult to handle on a good day, so his hair always looks like a mess. He dresses down, hides whatever he does have so people just assume he’s lanky even though he’s proud of the body he has.

Jonny is… Jonny is chiselled from marble and the sexual fantasies of women and men alike. In comparison, Patrick is just… Patrick. He remembers Enda looking at him with a note of disgust when they’d first been introduced, and he’d never forget a plate of his wedding cake disappearing from his hands as Enda had leaned into him and tutted before telling him he had a husband to please now so he had to watch his figure.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder I guess,” Patrick replies, curling in on himself at the memory of his wedding night.

Jonny is a bad idea, the literal definition of trouble, he tells himself. But… but he’s never been told he’s beautiful, never been pursued like this, never been made to feel like he’s a prize worth winning.

By the expression on his face, Jonny clearly isn’t happy with his reply. It’s like he’s confused that Patrick can’t see whatever it is that he does.

“What if…” Patrick trails off, unsure how to ask what he wants to, afraid of the imagined punishment. He bulldozes ahead anyway, consequences be damned. “What happens if I say no?”

“Then I walk out of this fine establishment and you never set eyes on me again. I’m not going to force you,” he says, suddenly gentle. “It’s just sex, Patrick. I’m not asking to marry you,” Jonny continues.

Patrick’s face doesn’t betray the hurt of that statement. _Just sex_. It’s always _just sex_. But he admits to himself that Jonny is nothing if not a convenient lover and one that doesn’t make him want to hurl. He won’t grow attached and he won’t be upset when Patrick doesn’t answer questions about his life before Chicago… better yet, he won’t ask questions in the first place. Eventually, Patrick knows, he’ll get bored and move along to someone new, someone more intriguing, younger, prettier—or, maybe Pat will leave Chicago. Plus, Patrick will know what to expect out of this, know that it’s nothing special, just an itch to scratch.

In the end the deciding factor is Jonny’s reassurance that he won’t be forced to do anything he doesn’t want. He’s not sure why he trusts Jonny to follow through on that statement. At any rate, he thinks that maybe he can use Jonny just as much as Jonny is using him—he can work on getting over whatever it is Enda did to damage him and Jonny can have his _just sex_.

“Ok,” Patrick agrees. “Yes.”

“Ok,” Jonny replies, looking like a cat that’s just caught the canary. “Can I have your number?”

“No,” Patrick says as he gets up. “You don’t need a number if it’s just sex.”

Jonny’s pinched expression lets him know he doesn’t appreciate his words being thrown back in his face, but it certainly makes Patrick smile.

“See you around, Jonny,” Patrick says, waving over his shoulder and walking out of the diner without looking back. Jonny can get the bill.


	5. Chapter 5

The only place Jonny can pin him to is his workplace. So, Patrick isn’t necessarily surprised when he sees a nondescript car with one of the goon squad leaning against it waiting for him when he finishes a shift the following Monday. But if Jonny thinks he can be called on like a dog, he’s got another thing coming.

It’s the guy has prince charming written all over him and Patrick finds himself wondering if all of Jonny’s employees look like they’ve just walked off the cover of a magazine.

“Jonny sent you?” Patrick asks.

He gets nothing but a nod in reply.

Patrick considers the car for a moment.

Whoever the employee is, his expression is starting to morph into a shit-eating grin, as if he realises he’s just about to ruin his boss’ day and that it’s going to bring him nothing but joy to do so. “You’re not getting in, are you?” he asks before laughing.

“Nope,” Patrick replies. “Just because Jonny says jump doesn’t mean I’m going to ask how high. I have an assignment that needs doing. If he wants to see me tell him he can pick me up here on Thursday. My shift finishes at 8PM. And I do mean he can pick me up,” Patrick says, eyeing the guy. “If it’s you or B2 I’ll be walking home.”

“He’s going to be so pissed,” he says gleefully. “Also, rude! I most definitely dress better than the Bananas in Pyjamas.”

“Sorry,” Patrick says, suddenly realising the poor guy will probably suffer consequences for not bringing Patrick back with him.

“Nuh,” the guy is still grinning as he replies. “Tazer deserves to be taken down a peg or two—he’s way too used to getting whatever he wants, whenever he wants. This’ll be a good lesson for him to learn. I’m Patrick, by the way. But feel free to call me Sharpy,” he introduces himself. “Nice to officially meet, Peekaboo.”

Patrick laughs, remembering that that was all Jonny had had to go on before last week.

“You’re really _Peeks_ , aren’t you?” Sharpy asks. “Never mind,” he says suddenly, putting his hands up and waving off any answer before Patrick can even reply. “I don’t think I actually want to know. I’ll pass along your message.”

Patrick watches as Sharpy slips into the car and disappears a moment later.

\--

Patrick wants to laugh when he spots Jonny, looking severely put upon, as he walks out the _Vanilla Bean_ on Thursday night. Jonny watches him suspiciously as he approaches the car, opening the door for Patrick but clearly not expecting him to take the unspoken invitation. Patrick smiles at the gesture, despite being pissed off at Patrick he’s still a gentleman. Without fuss, he approaches Jonny and presses up onto the balls of his feet to place a kiss underneath his jaw in greeting before slipping into the car. Jonny grumbles like a cranky old man before he gets in after Patrick, but he looks softer around the edges already as he pulls his phone out.

\--

They end up in the same hotel, in the same suite, Patrick’s backpack and cap lying forgotten by the door. They’ve barely made it into the room before Jonny is crowding into his space, pushing and pulling him to where he’s wanted and Patrick is suddenly so very glad he took the opportunity to use the small shower in the employee locker room.

Patrick’s hands are braced against the wall, his wrists gripped tightly in one of Jonny’s hands as the other makes quick work of their pants. Patrick hisses when he feels Jonny’s teeth clamp onto the base of his neck—it’s not painful, but it is unexpected. Jonny is pressed close along his back and Patrick tries to arch into him, suddenly desperate to be touched, to feel Jonny behind him.

“Don’t move,” Jonny commands, voice low.

Patrick lets out a needy sound that he’ll be embarrassed by later when he feels Jonny withdraw from him, but as ordered he stays completely still as he waits for Jonny’s next move.

He gasps as his pants are yanked down around his knees roughly. He’s panting as he hears Jonny unbuckle his own belt and draw down the zipper. He flinches when Jonny’s finger run lightly over the meat of his ass and receives a light slap as a reprimand for daring to move. Fuck, he’s so hard he can feel the pre-come leaking down his cock—he should _not_ be so easy for this man.

“Fuck,” he hears Jonny. “Your ass…” he trails off, spreading Patrick open and swiping a dry thumb over his hole. “Want this so bad,” Jonny whispers, talking to himself.

Patrick bites his bottom lip as Jonny shoves a lube covered finger into him without warning. He’s not gentle as he opens Patrick up quickly, but Patrick doesn’t think he’d last very long if he wasn’t on the border between pain and pleasure so he’s totally onboard as he feels Jonny’s third finger slip in shortly after the second.

Patrick is moaning like a whore and trying to push back on Jonny’s fingers and then suddenly he’s gone again and Patrick thinks he actually let’s out a cry at the loss but he needn’t have worried because Jonny is there again, pressed along his back, surrounding him, hand gripping Patrick’s wrists tight again.

“Please,” Patrick keens, traying to press back into Jonny. But Jonny’s grip on him is tight and he can’t move and all he gets for his efforts is a sharp nip to the side of his neck. Jonny waits until Patrick has stopped squirming before running the tip of his wet dick up and down Patrick’s crack a few times, catching on the edge of his hole.

Patrick widens his stance as much as he can given his jeans are still caught around his knees and he arches back, presenting himself to Jonny as best he can. “ _Please_ , Jonny,” he begs, breathless as Jonny’s dick catches his rim again.

“Yeah,” Jonny agrees, his voice rough with desire.

Patrick thinks he screams when Jonny unceremoniously thrusts into him, sheathing his whole length in Patrick in one punishing thrust. He’d known Jonny was big, remembers it from when he’d been sucking down Jonny’s cock as much as he could a few weeks ago, but it’s been a while and the stretch of him around Jonny’s cock is suddenly too much yet not enough.

Jonny doesn’t move as soon as he’s fully seated in Patrick—instead he whispers into Patrick’s ear “it’s ok baby, you’re ok, shhh” over and over, running the fingers of his free hand up and down the ridges of Patrick’s abdominals underneath his shirt until Patrick has relaxed against the intrusion and his breathing has slowed.

Jonny’s free hand snakes up and around his neck, turning Patrick’s head until he can lick into his mouth, coaxing kisses out of Patrick. And Patrick… he loves every second of it. He feels so full, stretched wide around Jonny dick, the edge of Jonny’s cold belt buckle pressing into his heated skin. Jonny is everywhere, surrounding him, and he feels owned.

Their kiss is broken as Jonny moves. Patrick gasps as he feels Jonny pull out and he sees stars as he feels Jonny’s snap forward. He loses himself in the sensations, the slap of Jonny’s hips against his as he’s thrusting into him over and over, the sound of his breathless pleas as he begs Jonny for release, the feel of Jonny’s fingers tightening around his wrists as he starts to lose control and the warm, wet feeling of Jonny sucking open-mouthed kisses onto his neck.

Patrick’s orgasm hits him suddenly and hard and he feels Jonny take some of his weight as his knees weaken. “Don’t stop,” Patrick gasps. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Jonny’s hips stutter as he thrusts a dozen more times before coming. By the end of it Patrick feels lightheaded and his feet are only just brushing the floor which means Jonny has been holding most of his weight for some time. If he wasn’t so blissed out, he’d be ridiculously turned on… he feels dick twitch in enthusiasm.

The next thing he knows, Jonny is carrying him bridal style to the bed, placing him down gently and stripping him of whatever he has left on. Jonny disappears into the bathroom and comes out a few minutes later naked and with a wet cloth that he uses to gently clean up Patrick before pulling the covers over him and slipping in behind Patrick, curling around him. If Patrick didn’t know any better, he’d think it strangely possessive.

Patrick turns as much as he can without breaking Jonny’s hold on him, pressing a few light kisses over Jonny’s jaw before finding his mouth and drawing him into a deeper kiss. He knows the rough treatment earlier was meant as some form of punishment for his insubordination, and making Jonny wait so long for this, and making Jonny _work_ for this… but he’s ok with Jonny’s punishment as long as it’s always like this. He wouldn’t always want _this_ exactly, but he can enjoy it when he does.

He falls asleep smiling and trading lazy kisses with Jonny and at that moment in time, there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

\--

Patrick wakes up a few hours later to a low light from Jonny’s side of the bed and needing the bathroom. Patrick moves gingerly, he’s sore in places he didn’t know he could be and suddenly the bathroom seems so far away. He doesn’t realise Jonny’s awake and watching him until he feels the bed move under him and a soft kiss is pressed to his shoulder. Jonny gets up and helps Patrick to the bathroom without saying anything, leaving Patrick to his privacy when Patrick smiles at him and says, “I’m ok, Jonny. It’s just been a while, so it’ll take a minute for my muscles to warm up.”

Patrick flops back onto the bed with a groan and Jonny immediately shoots up and heads into the bathroom. Patrick frowns in his direction but starts dozing off as he hears what must be the shower.

“Come on, up,” Jonny orders, waking Patrick up.

“Hmmm?”

“I drew a bath,” Jonny explains, pulling Patrick up with a small smile. “It’ll help.”

“You comin’ with me?” Patrick asks, looking up at Jonny with a sleepy smile.

“If you want,” he replies.

Patrick pushes into Jonny’s space and presses up onto the tips of his toes and pressing a kiss onto his lips as Jonny’s arms wrap around him. “Please.”

Jonny looks pleased at the request and drops a kiss to tip of Patrick’s nose. “Come on,” he says, leading Patrick into the bathroom.

Patrick sighs in contentment as he leans back against Jonny’s chest in the hot water and bubbles. He can immediately feel his stiff muscles relaxing.

“Did I hurt you?” Jonny mumbles into Patrick’s curls.

“Nothing I wasn’t totally on board with,” Patrick replies, touched at the concern. He doesn’t think Jonny realises that Patrick let him hold him down, let him be rough. Jonny doesn’t know that Patrick can give as good as he gets… yet. “Jonny,” he says, making sure they’re face-to-face so Jonny listens. “It’s ok. I enjoyed it. Admittedly we can’t do that all the time, but I don’t mind. I liked it,” he reassures him.

\--

When he wakes up the following morning, Patrick is alone and the sheets beside him are cool. He stretches languidly, enjoying the twinge of his muscles that remind him about last night. When he sits up, he expects to find some signs of Jonny still being here. His stomach drops uncomfortably at the silence of the room and his clothes sitting at the foot of the bed, folded neatly. Patrick dresses quickly and looks around the suite to see if Jonny left him a note, anything… but there’s nothing.

Whatever warm feelings Patrick had had about last night are suddenly gone. He feels a deep sense of shame for letting himself think that Jonny would at least stick around in the morning, would at least let him know when he left. He guesses that _just sex_ means it’s not going to be a repeat occurrence then—a pity but also a relief. The sex is… mind blowing, but Patrick discovers he doesn’t like the loneliness and guilt he feels the following morning.

Patrick suddenly feels like he’s suffocating, and he rushes to get his jacket on, pull his cap low over his eyes and gather his bag. He opens the door a crack and makes sure there are no surprises waiting for him in the hall before he slips out.

\--

Despite the drama the previous week, Patrick joins Tyler when he goes out to _1988_ (again) the following Friday. Tyler loves the place because he can charge an exorbitant amount for doing very little work on account of the fact that ‘ _there are very rich potential clients in this joint, Pat_ ’.

Tyler is the closest thing he has to a friend in this city. He’d been two months in, still looking for the perfect place to call home when he’d run into some trouble. At the time it had been refreshing because it had meant no one here recognised him—back in Buffalo he’s recognisable on sight to the sorts of people that cause trouble and they’re too afraid to piss his father off so he’d always been left well enough alone. Tyler had helped him at the time, strolling into the situation and slinging an arm around his shoulders as though they were best friends and Patrick just happened to be on this abandoned street waiting for him and how sorry he was that he was late and that he’d bumped into _this_ crowd. Patrick hasn’t been able to shake Tyler since, the guy just grows on you like a fungus.

Also, Patrick knows he’s been introspective following what was possibly the best sex of his life. Given he’s not seen or heard from Jonny or any of his people he assumes that the same cannot be said for Jonny. He hates that it bothers him, hates that part of him is desperate for acknowledgment and the feeling of being needed even if it’s just for good sex. There’s something about Jonny, something Patrick can’t quite put his finger on, but Patrick just _wants_. Given all his inner turmoil he feels like following Tyler to _1988_ is another one of his bad ideas. It’s Jonny’s territory he’s entering, and it makes him feel vulnerable, like he’s entering the lion’s den.

Patrick tries to dress differently and slicks his hair back to hide his curls. It’s not much, but it’s enough that if someone isn’t paying attention, they’d overlook him as someone different (he refuses to admit that he’s hiding from Jonny but doesn’t have the heart to deny Tyler a night out). Despite everything, he wants to avoid Jonny tonight, doesn’t want him being here to be construed as anything other than Patrick just enjoying a night out with his best friend.

He’s not much of a dancer, but to break routine he trails after Tyler onto the dancefloor instead of heading to the bar first. It feels good, and he loses himself in the beat and Tyler getting all up in his business. They’re attracting a bit of attention but Tyler’s running commentary on potential clients as they dance is making him laugh and forget himself. Tyler eventually lands his unsuspecting victim, dragging them in the direction of the back rooms, leaving Patrick alone on the dancefloor. One song is enough, wandering hands are making him feel uncomfortable and he’s thirsty so he makes his way through the writhing bodies to the bar. He’s flushed and sweaty and he thinks someone may have spilt their drink on him at some point because he smells like beer.

He’s leaning against the bar, waiting to get the attention of the bartender, when arms appear either side of him, bracketing him in. Jonny clearly has a signature move.

“Patrick,” Jonny murmurs in his ear in greeting.

Yeah, Patrick has some pretty shitty luck. “Jonathon,” he replies, turning in the circle of Jonny’s arms to lean back against the bar and look up at him and his stupidly chiselled features.

Tyler is back on the dancefloor and as soon as he catches Patrick’s eye, he blows him a kiss (Patrick sometimes wonders what the hell Tyler can do with his mouth when he gets his clients off that quickly… maybe he should ask). Jonny’s eyes narrow when he notices Patrick’s attention has shifted from him. He looks over at his shoulder, considering Tyler for a moment before turning back to Patrick.

“Friend of yours?” he asks, despite the fact that he knows he is.

“Jealous?” Patrick asks, honestly interested to hear the response. He didn’t peg Jonny for the jealous type, and it doesn’t bode well if he is. Patrick and whatever it is they have going on between them shouldn’t warrant that level of attention.

Jonny’s hand brushes Patrick’s stomach as he settles a hand on his hip. Patrick bites his bottom lip, trying not to let it affect him. Jonny notices, leaning in until his lips are brushing Patrick’s ear.

“So, what if I am?”

“You shouldn’t be,” Patrick replies. “I’m not worth the trouble.”

Jonny pulls back, taking Patrick’s chin in his hand and forcing Patrick to meet his eyes. He doesn’t say anything. He’s either found whatever it is he’s looking for written on Patrick’s face or he hasn’t, either way Patrick isn’t going to elaborate.

Patrick grows uncomfortable, and turns his head, pulling away from Jonny’s heavy gaze. Honestly, Patrick feels like if the guy looked hard enough, he’d find all of Patrick’s secrets written all over him.

“Come with me?” Jonny asks, catching his wrist before he has a chance to walk away.

Patrick looks up at Jonny, considering the offer. He doesn’t have a choice, he imagines this is what addiction is… one taste of it and he wants more, always more. He knows he shouldn’t, but the sex is really great and he’s not getting it from anywhere else. “Sure,” Patrick agrees, following Jonny through the crowd to the car waiting outside.

\--

Patrick isn’t even surprised when they end up in the same hotel again. He thinks Jonny’s a bit stupid having a go-to hotel suite though, clean cops and competitors love that kind of routine because it means they’re easy pickings. Somehow though, Patrick doesn’t think Jonny could ever be considered to be easy pickings.

“Go shower,” Jonny orders, pushing him in the direction of the bathroom as soon as the door closes behind them. “Get that shit out of your hair, I don’t like it.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told, stripping off his clothes as he goes. He takes his time in the shower, Jonny can wait if he’s going to be a dick about things. Spotting lube and condoms sitting on the counter, Patrick decides to make Jonny wait longer, working himself open slowly with his fingers. He doesn’t think he could handle a repeat performance of their last encounter, not tonight.

Jonny is sitting on the couch, snapping what must be instructions into his phone in French. He hasn’t noticed Patrick yet, so he leans against the doorway, stroking his cock lazily and taking the opportunity to observe Jonny in what must be his natural habitat. He’s beautiful, Patrick thinks.

Jonny has taken off his jacket, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his collar open, but Patrick finds himself getting distracted by the spread of Jonny’s thighs. His pants are stretched tight over their thickness and all Patrick can think about is riding them.

He must make a noise because Jonny’s head shoots up to look at Patrick. The response is immediate, Jonny hangs up on whoever is on the other end of the line and runs his eyes over Patrick, pupils blown wide with desire.

The phone clatters onto the low coffee table and Jonny leans back into the couch, shifting his hips forward and spreading his thighs more as he continues to stare at Patrick. Patrick’s cock is dripping pre-come by the time Jonny curls his fingers at him, commanding Patrick to approach.

Jonny’s hands run up the length of Patrick thighs which are now spread wide over Jonny’s before coming to rest on his hips and pull him forward a little more. His thumbs are stroking the soft skin of Patrick’s hips as he looks over every inch of him. He frowns as his gaze is caught by a scar—it’s clear that it was left behind by a bullet. There’s a reason Patrick used to have a security detail.

“Would you tell me if I asked?”

Patrick smiles softly at Jonny, bringing his hand up to swipe a thumb over the scar on Jonny’s upper lip. “Would you?” he asks instead.

Patrick isn’t expecting a reply, so he’s not upset when Jonny opts to lean in and capture his lips in a kiss instead. Patrick can appreciate a good kiss when he gets to experience one, but kissing Jonny is all-consuming. When Jonny kisses him it feels like he’s stamping his ownership on Patrick, his lips like a brand on his skin. Jonny’s fingers find his rim quickly and he groans into Patrick’s mouth as he realises he is already wet and stretched open for the taking.

His hands feel clumsy as tries to work Jonny’s pants open. In the end he has to pull back from Jonny’s mouth so he can concentrate long enough to undo the button at his waist and drag the zip down, pulling Jonny’s cock free from his boxers. He makes quick work of the condom before sitting up on his knees and shuffling closer to Jonny, reaching behind him to line up Jonny’s cock. Jonny’s hands are buried in his damp curls, his tongue licking into Patrick’s mouth as slowly, ever so slowly Patrick rocks back over and over.

He’s never felt so erotic before. Patrick feels like he’s starring in his own pornographic fantasies whenever he ends up alone in a room with Jonny. He’s so sensitive he can feel the brush of Jonny’s pants against the back of his thighs as his hips involuntary twitch up into Patrick, feel Jonny’s hands tighten ever so slightly in his curls as he tries to hold himself back and let Patrick dictate the pace.

By the time Patrick is fully seated they’re panting into each other’s mouths. Patrick rolls his hips experimentally, his head falling back as Jonny’s attention moves down to biting and sucking kisses along the line of jaw and neck. Patrick keeps the pace slow, working them both until they’re both gasping, and his thighs are burning. He tries to chase the release, but he groans in frustration because he just can’t quite get the angle he wants, _needs_ , to take him the rest of the way.

As if hearing his thoughts Jonny shifts their position slightly, fingers pressing into Patrick’s hips hard enough to bruise as he moves Patrick to where he needs to be and thrusts sharply up, deep into Patrick. Jonny latches onto his shoulder with his teeth as he comes, Patrick following soon after. Jonny’s shirt is ruined but he can’t bring himself to care. They’re still for few quiet moments, Jonny’s hands still holding his hips and his face pressed into Patrick’s shoulder, licking over what he assumes must by the mother of all hickeys.

Jonny sighs before pushing Patrick sideways off his lap and Patrick hears himself whine as he feels Jonny’s dick slip out of him, suddenly empty. He feels his hole twitch, as if seeking that fullness once more.

Patrick dozes lightly, barely making note of Jonny getting up and moving to the bathroom. He must fall asleep because he wakes with a sharp slap to his ass and Jonny leaning over him freshly showered with a new suit on.

“Get dressed and go,” Jonny orders, dropping Patrick’s clothes next to him. “I can’t stay.”

The blatant dismissal hits Patrick like a punch. He’s getting whiplash from the guy, he’s all soft and open, expression warm when he’s fucking into Patrick but as soon as it’s done, he’s back to being an emotionless asshole. Patrick has never been made to feel ashamed after sex, but, he guesses, there’s a first time for everything.

“Hurry up,” Jonny tells him when he takes too long to move. He pulls his phone out and starts tapping away as he waits for Patrick to finish getting dressed. “I can have someone drive you home,” he offers when he sees Patrick wince as he stands. Jonny is big, big enough that he knows he’ll be feeling this one for a few days again.

“I can walk from here,” Patrick informs him waspishly as he pulls on his clothes, quick and efficient. He can clean himself up when he gets home.

Jonny stops typing and glances over at Patrick with an incredulous expression.

“You’re a real asshole, you know,” Patrick says quietly as he brushes past Jonny to the door of the suite. He’s hurting and despite the great sex he needs to stop looking for the warmth Jonny only seems to be able to show when his cock is buried deep in Patrick’s ass.

“Were you honestly expecting anything else?” Jonny asks.

“No,” Patrick replies, looking at Jonny disappointedly. “No, I guess not.”

Jonny frowns at the expression on Patrick’s face, as if he’s been left wanting, but doesn’t say anything further, gesturing at the door instead.

Patrick really needs to learn to treat himself better than this.


	6. Chapter 6

There’s something about Jonny that draws Patrick in like a moth to a flame. Patrick doesn’t think to question why he’s ok with Jonny touching him, with having Jonny’s hands tangled in his curls as he pushes his cock deeper into Patrick’s mouth. If anything, he finds himself craving the touch, the attention. He feels like he’s won at something when he pulls Jonny’s focus and he doesn’t question any of it because Patrick is fairly confident that he won’t like the answer.

Getting attached is never a good idea with people like Jonny, like people from his former life. He’ll undoubtedly be found wanting and be left on the wayside when someone more suitable is lined up. But Patrick will allow himself to have this as long as it lasts, because he’s not strong enough to turn away from Jonny even when he knows he should.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Jonny. His eyes are half lidded, following the line of his fingers as he traces them up and down Patrick’s spine.

“You,” he admits quietly, biting his lip when Jonny’s large hand slips down to squeeze a handful of Patrick’s ass. They’re in the hotel again (he’s starting to ponder if Jonny actually owns the hotel… it’s not an unreasonable conclusion to reach) and Patrick is starting to realise that this might be a _thing_. Because ever since he agreed to casually fuck Jonny, he’s been getting some pretty regular and spectacular sex. He’s not respected in the morning (much), Jonny usually kicks him out as soon as he’s done, but in between all the life-ruining sex they sometimes share these quiet moments.

“What about me?”

“Your stupidly perfect face,” Patrick grumbles, trying to change the subject.

Jonny smiles pleased with the backhanded compliment. “And?” he prompts.

Patrick really likes that smile… could fall in love with it if he’s not careful. He brings his fingers up to trace the line of Jonny’s lips instead of answering. His fingers are quickly replaced by the press of his lips against Jonny’s.

“You’re insatiable,” Jonny mutters, dark and full of promise as he rolls them over until he’s pressed between Patrick’s legs.

“Only for you,” Patricks lets slip, stupidly honest. He scrambles for a fix, blinded by panic. “I mean… have you seen you?” he leers.

Jonny rolls his eyes before asking, “you still good?”

“Yeah,” Patrick replies, reaching to the side table where the box of condoms is sitting. “Fuck me good, Jonny.” He’s still wet and stretched open from their first round and he can feel himself harden as he watches Jonny sit back and stroke himself, eyes on Patrick spread out before him. Patrick bites down on his lip to stop himself from moaning and he spreads his knees a little wider, dipping his fingers into himself and giving Jonny something to watch.

It’s not long before Jonny rolls a condom on, coating himself in lube before pushing into Patrick with one thrust.

Patrick wraps his legs around Jonny, locking his ankles just above Jonny’s perfect ass, trying to find an angle that gets him deeper. It’s the slowest they’ve ever fucked, Jonny deep in concentration as he holds himself back to draw out the pleasure for both of them. By the time Patrick comes, a hot and sticky mess between them, Patrick is wrapped around Jonny, sucking Jonny’s tongue into his mouth.

He’s a fucked-out wreck but he tightens his grip on Jonny just as he pulls out of him.

“Not yet,” he whispers against Jonny’s lips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jonny groans, obliging. “You’re… do you have any idea how perfect you look right now, spread out underneath me like this?”

They stay like that for a few more minutes before Jonny pulls out of his grip and he lets out an involuntary whine as he feels Jonny’s cock slip free. He hates that feeling right after he pulls out, like a part of him is missing, and he suddenly feels so empty.

“You love it, don’t you? Love having my cock filling you, stretching your hole wide open.”

Patrick hisses at Jonny’s probing fingers in his hole. He’s so fucking sensitive right now that everything just feels _too much_.

He slaps Patrick’s thigh lightly as he turns away and pulls the condom off. Patrick can’t move yet; he feels so drunk from Jonny’s cock he just needs a few minutes to recover before he moves. Plus, he hates this part of the night—as soon as the shower goes on Patrick knows his time is up.

“You’re a fucking mess Pat,” Jonny says as he walks out of the bathroom, looking down at the bed where Patrick is still spread out right where he left him, a towel slung low on his hips. “Clean yourself up before you go,” he orders, turning to the closet and pulling out a fresh suit.

If Jonny didn’t make Patrick feel like such a two-cent whore, he might’ve had enough energy in him to get out another orgasm just from watching Jonny drop the towel and start to dress. As it is, Patrick just quietly shuffles to the bathroom, trying not to show how uncomfortable he is, both from the over stimulation and from the blunt dismissal. He hastily dresses himself in the bathroom, not looking in the mirror to admire the marks Jonny has left before he walks out of the empty hotel room. He’ll shower at home where he can fall apart without having to worry about prying eyes.

\--

It’s a sex thing until it isn’t—Patrick doesn’t even notice as they transition from just sex, to sex and quiet moments to sex and conversation. Yet here they are, bickering over the season the Blackhawks are having and whether they’ll make the play-offs. It’s enough to make Patrick pause mid-sentence, face going slack.

“What?” Jonny asks, looking around, confused.

“Nothing,” Patrick replies, shaking his head. “I’m hungry,” he adds, “feed me?”

Jonny rolls his eyes but points to where the room service menu is sitting. Patrick orders dinner for both of them, adding a bottle of wine because why the hell not?

They switch the game on and wait for room service, Patrick tucked against Jonny. He’s feeling warm and sleepy and content which is why, he guesses, he starts to talk about things he shouldn’t.

“I have three sisters,” Patrick reveals. “I miss them.”

Patrick feels Jonny tense at the mention of family, but he relaxes quickly and prompts, “oh? Do you not get to see them often?”

Patrick considers his answer carefully. He wants to explain, but not to provide so much detail that Jonny could ever connect the dots or would ever want to go looking. “No. My life before Chicago… I can never go back to it.”

“Why?”

“We had a disagreement,” Patrick hesitates. “My family wanted me to take over the family business, but I wanted something else. I wouldn’t be welcome if I tried to go back.” It’s as close to the truth as he can get.

“What did you want?”

Patrick shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed to the screen. He wants to say _I want to study, I want to run my own business, earn my own money, I want to marry a man I love and I want to have kids who don’t have to be scared about wanting a different life for themselves. I think I want you._ But he knows better, knows he shouldn’t expect Jonny to want him back even though he gets to witness this side of Jonny.

Jonny presses his lips to the top of Patrick’s head, making Patrick’s stomach flutter. He’s getting too attached… is already too attached, he realises.

“I have a brother,” Jonny says. “Funnily enough he’s pissed off that I am in the family business.”

“Do you like it?” Patrick asks, curling his fingers in Jonny’s shirt.

“Do I like what?”

“Being in the family business? Was it worth giving up your dreams for?”

He looks up at Jonny then, because he thinks he’ll only believe the answer if he sees Jonny’s face when he replies. He knows that Jonny thinks they’re just talking about your run of the mill family-owned company like a car dealership or something, but… Patrick has to know.

“I didn’t give up my dreams Pat,” he says. “They just grew with me.”

It’s nice, Patrick thinks as he smiles at Jonny, to know that Jonny wasn’t forced into something he didn’t want.

“Now,” Jonny leans in to whisper into Patrick’s ear, “you’re going to suck my cock and maybe I’ll return the favour after dinner.”

Patrick doesn’t let the disappointment affect him, although the reminder about what this arrangement between them really is, is the cold slap of reality he probably needs. He’s always hungry for Jonny, so it doesn’t take much to slip off the couch, kneel between Jonny’s thick thighs and slip his hardening cock out of his pants.

Patrick teases the head first, hand loosely twisting around the base of his fat cock while waiting for Jonny to harden fully. When he’s satisfied that Jonny has caught up with him, he flits his eyes up, making eye contact with Jonny as he swallows him down until he feels the head nudge the back of his throat.

“ _Fuuuuck_ ,” Jonny moans, “your mouth was made for sucking cock.”

Patrick closes his eyes when he feels Jonny’s hand curl at the nape of his neck. He grunts as Patrick sucks so hard his cheeks hollow and he squeezes his neck before giving Patrick a breathy order as Patrick lets his cock go with an obscene pop from his spit slick lips to mouth at Jonny’s balls.

“Open your eyes, Pat. I want to look at you as I’m coming down your throat.”

Patrick moans around his cock because fuck, that is so hot. But… it’s also very intimate and given the current state of Patrick’s feelings, intimate is not necessarily a good thing. He flicks them open anyway, watching Jonny come apart beneath his mouth and hands. When Jonny comes a few minutes later, he feels powerful in a way he never has before.

Jonny doesn’t return favour after dinner.

\--

Tyler loves that Patrick is having an illicit affair with someone (because ‘ _you haven’t had consistent dick since I’ve known you Patrick. I was beginning to think you’re one of those weird people that don’t do sex at all_ ’).

They’re still not entirely sure who Jonny is, which worries Patrick more than it probably should, but he’s either working his way up the ladder in the mob or he’s the spoilt son of the head of a family (like Patrick had been). But… Patrick doesn’t think Jonny got to wherever he is currently by being lazy, so he assumes the guy is just ambitious and eager to prove himself to someone higher up. Either way, Jonny is dangerous for someone in Patrick’s situation to be associating with.

However, Jonny scratches an itch Patrick never even knew he had and despite trying to find someone else, Patrick finds himself unable to stand the thought of anyone else touching him. It reminds him too much of Enda and the few times he’d been unlucky enough to get stuck in a room alone with him for more than a few minutes.

His forays into intimacy never end well, and Patrick gets accused of being a tease more often than not, so he resigns himself to his tryst with Jonny. But this whole thing should be helping Patrick eventually move on from Enda, move on from his horrible fucking family and _live_. All that’s happening though is he seems to be getting more and more entangled with Jonny.

\--

Patrick takes time off from working as his finals loom on the horizon. He knows he shouldn’t be worried; he’s acing all his classes so even if the exams end up being a total wreck, he’ll still be able to pull through with a decent grade. He forgets that the only way Jonny can contact him is at the _Vanilla Bean_ or _1988_ though, which is probably why Tyler is nervously shuffling from one foot to the other on his doorstep on Friday night.

“Dude,” Tyler greets before pushing his way in. “You gotta give this creeper your number because that fucker is scary when he can’t find you.”

“Did he follow you here?”

“No!” Tyler replies, offended. “I shook them off pretty quick,” he admits reluctantly.

Patrick shoots him a disbelieving glare as he stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie because he wouldn’t be in this mess if Tyler hadn’t led them to his workplace in the first place.

“I’ve already apologised for that!” Tyler whines, putting his hands up in surrender. “I mean… in broad daylight? These guys are like vampires, partying all night and sleeping all day—how was I supposed to know they’d be awake and tailing me? People don’t usually find me all that interesting you know.”

Tyler is full of shit—he’s a magnet for people from all walks of life because he has the ability to charm the skin off a snake and he looks like he walked off the cover of a fucking magazine. Patrick’s honestly surprised he doesn’t have more issues with stalkers given his line of work (‘ _you’re not the only with a knife_ ’ Tyler tells him).

“What did he want? I’m assuming you negotiated a fee for the delivery of a message?”

Tyler grins at Patrick and shrugs. “Clearly the guy has money to part with, so who am I to turn down a good deal?”

Patrick laughs, shuffling into the kitchen and pulling two beers out the fridge. Tyler hums in thanks when Patrick hands him one and heads to the couch where he’s been curled up with his study notes surrounding him.

Tyler flicks through a few pages before shaking his head and flopping back into the couch. “You’re way too smart for him. I’m not sure he realises that.”

“He knows what I’m studying,” Patrick says, pulling his legs underneath him on the opposite end of the couch.

“Doesn’t mean he thinks you’re smart, Patty. Keep it that way,” Tyler advises. “Nothing better than assholes underestimating the little guy.”

Patrick knows, it’s the only reason he got away from Enda after all.

“What does he want?” Patrick asks again.

“You,” he replies, blunt. He purses his lips as he considers Patrick carefully. There’s something else he wants to say but he’s debating over whether to say it. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into? He seems awfully interested in you outside of the marathon pretzel sex you have on occasion.”

“I don’t know why,” Patrick says softly, fingering the label on the beer bottle and avoiding looking at Tyler. “I’m nothing special. I’m sure he’ll move onto someone more exciting soon, once the novelty wears off.”

“You definitely don’t give yourself enough credit,” Tyler grins, leaning over to poke Patrick in the neck where a particularly persistent hickey from his last encounter with Jonny is still visible. “Also, I’m not sure who the fuck killed your self-esteem or whatever but fuck them. Whether or not you believe it, you have this guy’s interest in a big way. If it were just about sex, he wouldn’t keep sending me after you when he can’t find you—it bothers him that you’re not under his thumb. Trust me, I know the difference between a repeat customer and someone that’s genuinely interested.”

“He kicks me out after we’re done most of the time,” Patrick says defensively, curling in on himself. That still bothers him.

“I’m not saying the guy isn’t a massive dickhead,” Tyler tries to reassure him. “Just saying that even if he doesn’t realise it, he wants more of whatever you’re dishing out.”

“Do you think I should…” Patrick trails off, not sure what he wants to ask. Does Tyler think he should stop this? Does Tyler think he’s being stupid, and he should just roll with the punches? Does Tyler think he should start demanding payment if Jonny’s going to treat him like a hooker?

“I don’t know,” Tyler shrugs. “But, Patty-cakes, can you give it up? I mean… this is the first person I’ve seen capture your attention like this.”

“You captured my attention plenty,” argues Patrick.

“Yeah but, thankfully for all parties involved, my dick didn’t capture your attention too.”

\--

It’s a few hours later and Patrick finds himself being pulled along by Tyler into _1988_ where he assures Patrick that Jonny is just waiting for him in anticipation. Instead of heading to the bar or dancefloor he’s dragged to a roped off area where B1 and B2 (he really should stop thinking of them in conjunction with Bananas in Pyjamas) are standing guard.

Sharpy immediately perks up upon seeing him, nudging the guy next to him. Tyler pushes Patrick in front of him, patting his shoulder and whispering “have fun” before melting back into the crowd.

“Peeks,” Sharpy says with a smile. “Thought we might have scared you away when we couldn’t find you.”

“I have finals dumbass,” Patrick explains. “You really need to work on your wingman skills, Sharpy, give the man some options when he can’t track me down.”

Sharpy scoffs before ruffling Patrick’s curls playfully. “I don’t question what Jonny wants even if it is scrawny college dwarfs like you.”

Patricks slaps his hand away with a glare. “I’m not short!”

Sharpy looks down at him, the laughter shining in his eyes belying his serious tone as he says, “of course not.”

“Shut up and take me to Jonny,” orders Patrick snootily. He fucking hates when people give him shit about his size because he really isn’t _that_ small… he likes being smaller than Jonny though.

\--

Patrick wonders if Jonny ever looks anything other than ridiculously attractive and his dick is suddenly very interested. He’s impeccably dressed (again) and it makes Patrick want to peel him out of that suit. A well-cut suit on a guy is equivalent to lingerie on a woman for him—the right suit on the right guy can be downright erotic.

He seems more determined, dark eyes fixed on the goal ahead of him, which is apparently, Patrick. Patrick watches him as he approaches. It’s almost like he’s watching a lion stalk its prey and it immediately unsettles him a little. Whoever he is, he’s not someone Patrick should probably get involved with because he’s sure that he’d figure it out, that he’d know who Patrick really is given the right clues.

He stops when he’s looming over Patrick and just keeps staring for a moment, but Patrick maintains eye contact because he’s not bowing down here. Jonny was the one who called for him so he can make the effort even if all Patrick wants to do is press up and kiss him.

“Patrick,” he eventually murmurs in greeting, dropping a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Arms wind around Patrick to pull him impossibly closer before he delivers the proposition of, “come home with me?”

“Last I heard a hotel room wasn’t a home.”

Jonny shrugs and waits for an answer anyway.

“Sure,” Patrick agrees. On the one hand he’s annoyed with himself for agreeing, but on the other… Patrick really wants to peel the suit off Jonny and explore all of that beautiful, bronzed skin he’s been dreaming about.

The sex is, per the norm, fucking amazing. They make it to the bed and Jonny lies back, letting Patrick touch and taste until he gets impatient. But, he’s not impatient enough to move things along quickly when he has Patrick spread out in front of him. Patrick starts to squirm a little on his knees, pressing his face into his arms as Jonny’s big hands knead his ass and pull his cheeks apart to reveal his hole. He groans when Jonny licks a stripe over his rim before blowing gently. The sensation has Patrick arching to back, trying to chase the feeling. Jonny doesn’t follow through though, instead fingering and licking him open until his hole is sloppy and stretched and Patrick is telling him to hurry it the fuck up.

The pace Jonny sets is sheer perfection—Patrick doesn’t know how he manages it, but Jonny has the innate ability to nail his fucking prostate with every snap of his hips. And then, Jonny changes his position, pressing his weight against Patrick’s back and sliding their fingers together as he, for once, bites gently at Patrick’s neck. Patrick comes undone beneath him.

\--

Patrick lies still, waiting for Jonny to drift off at the other end of the bed (he’d gently wiped Patrick clean before pressing a kiss to his forehead and going to sleep). As soon as he thinks Jonny is asleep, he moves quickly and quietly, gathering his things and going to the lounge area to get dressed. Patrick can’t bear the thought of being treated to Jonny’s post-coital kick-out again so he leaves before it can happen instead. This way, at least, it feels like the decision to leave is his own.

He knows he’ll be unlikely to slip out unnoticed tonight, so he doesn’t bother hiding, just moves stealthily so the door won’t wake up Jonny. He doesn’t look at whoever is standing guard as he passes by, just knows they don’t try to follow him.

\--

Apparently Jonny’s pissed that he pulled a runner. Patrick can’t bring himself to care that much, firstly because he has finals to worry about, and secondly because Jonny deserves a taste of his own medicine.

\--

Surprisingly, Jonny leaves him alone for the few weeks Patrick is sitting exams. But the moment he’s back at the _Vanilla Bean_ he notices Sharpy and co. sniffing around. It’s still a couple of days before Sharpy comes in though.

“Finals done then?”

“I don’t speak to people who don’t order coffee,” Patrick replies.

Sharpy rolls his eyes, orders something and then pointedly stares Patrick down while he waits for an answer.

“Yes,” Patrick says as he pushes the takeaway cup across the counter to Sharpy.

“Good. When’s a good time?”

Patrick is surprised that for once he’s being consulted on the timing of their hook-up. “Uh… I mean. I finish for the week on Thursday afternoon?”

“Good,” Sharpy says again. “Jonny wants to do dinner.”

“Wait… _what_?”

Sharpy shrugs but shoots Patrick a charming smile as he backs away from the counter. “What? Can’t handle a little one-on-one time with captain serious?”

“I dare you to call him that to his face,” Patrick snarks, throwing a wadded-up napkin at Sharpy who dodges it easily. “Why?”

“Maybe he’s trying to figure out foreplay? Or maybe… maybe the guy just wants to get his dick wet. Who the fuck knows or cares?”

Yeah, Patrick can appreciate that at least. He’s been jerking off to their sexual escapades in the absence of having Jonny readily available to him. “Ok. Why have you been hanging around?”

“Maybe I’m trying to find out more about you Peekaboo, seeing as you’ve caught the attention of our illustrious leader.”

“What’s there to know?” Patrick asks, feigning confusion. He and Jonny are casual only, Jonny treats him like shit, and he accepts it. There’s no reason Jonny needs to know more about Patrick other than he’s a willing warm body.

“What _isn’t_ there to know? Because for someone that claims to be just your average Joe—you’re a blank fucking slate. That’s not average, Peeks. Anyway, he’ll pick you up Thursday after work, don’t leave him waiting.”

“Shit,” Patrick mutters to himself watching Sharpy leave the shop. “ _Shit_ ,” he groans again, burying his hands in his face in frustration. So much for Jonny getting bored and moving on—he is so _screwed_.

\--

Patrick can’t believe he’s actually fucking nervous. He’s slept with the guy so it’s not like he should be… but it’s the first time Jonny will be the one to come get him since they started this whole thing. There’s a part of him that’s excited at the attention, his stomach fluttering at the thought that Jonny might actually _care_.

Thursday rolls around and he takes time after his shift to put some effort into looking good. Because, he realises, he wants to look good for Jonny, he wants all that laser-sharp focus on him... he doesn’t want Jonny’s eyes anywhere but on him tonight.

An hour after his shift exactly, he’s standing out front the _Vanilla Bean_ , and Jonny’s not there. He checks the time then looks up and down the street. No one is here, not even Jonny’s goon squad.

He waits ten minutes before going back into the _Vanilla Bean_ and ordering himself a coffee. He knows that sometimes life can get in the way of even the best laid plans, so he decides he’ll wait because someone will come and get him, or someone will deliver a message.

He shouldn’t have bothered—no one comes, and he ends up helping Stacey close up for the night instead.

No one tries to find him over the weekend. No one delivers a message to him in the two weeks that follow either.

\--

He still hasn’t heard from Jonny or anyone Jonny-related and thinking about that night, being stood up, still makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel like he’s swimming in deep water with a shark circling below. So, when he sees Sharpy waiting for him after his shift on a Friday night he simply says “no” and walks away.

He doesn’t stop despite Sharpy calling for him, but he does let Sharpy catch up. All he wants to do is to go home and sleep, it’s been a long week and he’s feeling tired and lonely so he knows going to Jonny is a bad idea because he seems to be exceptionally good at kicking Patrick when he’s down (even if he has no idea he’s doing it). But… but he can’t go home until he shakes off his stalker because he doesn’t want Jonny to be able to drop by… that way madness lies.

“Come on Peeks,” Sharpy tries, “he sent me to get you… that means something.”

“I don’t care,” Patrick snipes back, deciding he’ll head for the library. He doesn’t have anything urgent that needs his attention, but he might as well get a head start on some of his reading. “I’m not doing this again, Sharpy. If he wants a hooker, he can fucking pay for one. And if he wants to deliver a message, he can grow some balls and tell me himself instead of sending his fucking lapdog.”

“Rude,” Sharpy pouts. “I’m not a lapdog.”

“I don’t particularly care what you are, but you turn up whenever he doesn’t want to deal with me.”

“Jonny’s in one of those ‘shoot the messenger’ moods,” Sharpy says casually, keeping pace with Patrick easily. “Feel like saying that to his face so I don’t have to die tonight?”

“Nope.”

“You scared of him or something?” Sharpy ribs him.

“ _No_ ,” Patrick insists, stopping and turning to face his shadow, glaring. “Are you trying to manipulate me?”

“Is it working?”

He hates backing down from a challenge. It’s a weakness that he knows can be exploited but he hates being called weak, being thought of as weak. He’s known scarier men than Jonny and it’s insulting to have someone this low down the pecking order call him out for being scared. “Fuck you, yes,” Patrick hisses, turning and walking back to the waiting vehicle.

Sharpy is laughing as he trails behind Patrick.

\--

Jonny is on his phone, speaking in a low, sedate tone in French when Sharpy basically shoves him into the room and closes the door behind him with a muttered, “good luck!”

Patrick doesn’t bother moving any further into the room, instead opting to cross his arms and lean back against the door while he waits. He’s not planning on being here for long anyway so there’s no point in getting comfortable.

Jonny gestures for him to come further into the room as he continues his call, but Patrick doesn’t move and suddenly Jonny’s attention is focused on him. It makes him want to squirm, but he can’t crack under the pressure. He’s here to tell Jonny to fuck off and then he’s going, hopefully never to have him darken his figurative doorstep again.

It’s still another few minutes before Jonny finishes his call and hangs up, the phone being placed face down on the desk beside him before he moves to greet Patrick.

“Patrick,” he murmurs in greeting, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

Patrick turns away, trying not to react as Jonny’s lips brush his cheek. No kissing, he decides. He might lose his resolve otherwise.

“Patrick,” Jonny says again, a warning. “I don’t appreciate the attitude.”

Patrick tries to push him away, get some space. There’s some scuffling, because Jonny has the audacity to be fucking immovable (the dick), before Patrick feels fingers dig into his chin, forcing him to look at Jonny. He narrows his eyes, glaring as he tries to pull his face away, his fists tightly gripping Jonny’s stupid shirt.

Jonny’s mouth quirks, as if he’s finding this whole situation amusing and Patrick is being _cute_. Holding Patrick in place, he leans forward again and presses a chaste kiss to Patrick’s lips. Patrick is absolutely, 100% not charmed by the asshole or his ability to manhandle him.

“Are you going to let me know what’s going on or are you going to keep playing games?” he asks, an eyebrow quirked in question, before stepping away and giving Patrick his space.

The question makes Patrick see red. “ _I’m_ playing games? _Me_? Are you fucking serious right now, Jonathon? Because last time I checked we were done!”

Jonny shrugs, nonchalant as he looks at Patrick, expression unchanging. “You’re throwing a tantrum like a child,” Jonny points out. “I never said we were finished with each other, I just had more important things to deal with.”

“Well we don’t always get what we want, Jonny,” Patrick hisses, keeping his distance. “It’s been weeks. I’m not a toy you can just pick up and discard whenever you feel like it. If you want casual sex, pay for it or find someone that’s willing to put out because it’s not me.”

“Maybe if you’d given me your number, I would’ve told you I’m unavailable for a few weeks,” Jonny replies logically. “I’m not the one that wants boundaries or rules in place, Patrick. It’s your own fault for not leaving me with a way to get in touch.”

Patrick really wants to throw something at him and wipe that smug smile off his face but there’s nothing heavy enough within reach. He looks away, conceding the point. Jonny is just being so infuriatingly logical and Patrick hates that he’s _right_ damnit!

“What do you want, Patrick?” Jonny asks him, curious. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” he replies between clenched teeth, refusing to look over at where Jonny is.

“What do you want?” he repeats the question, tone mocking as if he were addressing a child.

Patrick presses his lips into a thin line, crossing his arms over his chest defensively and refusing to answer Jonny.

“You want me to date you? Is that what you want, Patrick?” Jonny asks as he leans back against the arm of the couch, considering Patrick with a tilt of his head. “Respect you in the morning?”

The fight drains out Patrick immediately and the hurt sinks in. He wants to say yes, but Jonny’s tone of derision makes him feel ashamed for wanting anything at all. “No,” Patrick replies evenly, letting his head fall back against the door with a thud. “Not with you, at least.”

“Patrick,” Jonny warns. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Look, asshole,” Patrick snaps. “I’m telling you that I refuse to be at your beck and call for a quick fuck. I deserve better than that, better than you, no matter how ridiculously good the sex is.”

After a few minutes of silence, Patrick sighs and looks at Jonny who is still just sitting there and staring at him. Yeah, this conversation is definitely over. “Fuck you. I came to tell you this is done. We’re done. Leave me alone,” he says sharply, yanking open the door and slamming it shut behind him.

No one follows him out of the hotel.


	7. Chapter 7

Patrick knows whatever the casual sex arrangement _thing_ he had with Jonny would have to end eventually. But Patrick had been starting to feel fond of him. He’d caught himself trying to make Jonny laugh and trying to earn the breadcrumbs of information about himself that Jonny occasionally gave up. It had been a problem—it had made him think he was well on his way to falling in love with a man that only used him for sex. It’s for the best that he’d ended it, he thinks, better for both of them.

There’s a guy in one of his classes with light brown hair, a soft smile and eyes the colour of the sea after a storm. He’s smaller than Patrick—he’s not sure if that is a thing he would like, but he thinks he’d be more comfortable doing the fucking than being fucked given that the reverse only seems to work with Jonny. He’s so different from Jonny that Patrick actually finds it somewhat comforting—the guy is normal, untouched by tragedy or danger or mystery. He’s just a college student.

He tries to imagine what it would be like dating him. He doesn’t look like the sort that would put out on the first date. Patrick would probably have to actually _date_ him, get to know him slowly over coffees and dinners and studying, reach for his hand one day and be happy if he doesn’t pull away. Patrick wouldn’t fight with him like he does with Jonny, and if they did fight it wouldn’t end with Patrick begging for release, crying from the need to come. He imagines that their first kiss would be gentle, sweet and Patrick would be looking down into those stormy blue eyes that would trust implicitly that Patrick was the same—gentle and sweet like him. Patrick thinks he’d have to be gentle, sweet… make sure he doesn’t grip tight enough to bruise, or drag his blunt nails down his back hard enough to leave welts, or suck hard kisses into the hinge of his jaw so everyone can _know_. He imagines that their sex would be quiet and soft… everything it’s not with Jonny.

He’s the kind of normal Patrick had been look for when he ran away and moved to Chicago. He can give Patrick the life and the unconditional love he thinks he wants. He’d be able to just be Patrick Kane, statistical genius with a 9 to 5 job instead of Patrick Timothy Kane II, former Kane heir and disgrace to the family he thought loved him and the husband that will probably kill him in the future.

Most importantly though, he’s not Jonathon. He’s someone that can love him in return and love easily.

He knows the guy is interested, has caught his eye a few times and shot him a smirk, enjoying the blush high on his cheeks when his head drops quickly at being noticed. So, when the guy eventually grows enough balls to approach Patrick and ask him on a date, voice clear and confident despite the blush dusting those high cheek bones, Patrick doesn’t say no.

\--

They’re on their first date. Patrick is, admittedly, feeling a little unsure because he’s never really been on a date? Has definitely never had to lead one, anyway.

Pat had asked Tyler where a good date spot would be—probably not the best idea to ask a hooker for dating advice but Tyler likes to be wined and dined as much as he likes the sex so he figures he can’t go too wrong—which is how he finds himself sitting across from a guy whose name keeps slipping from his mind, sipping on cheap wine and enjoying a fairly affordable steak dinner (his phone only refers to the guy as ‘ _guy from campus_ ’ which in hindsight was really fucking stupid of him because he would really appreciate a reminder about the guy’s name but he figures it’d be too rude to ask for it again at this stage).

What he forgets about Tyler though is that the guy loves keeping it criminal, which is why Jonny casually strolls into the restaurant halfway into his date. Patrick has a rather large ‘ _oh shit_ ’ moment when he spots him, which must translate into his facial expression because his date is querying whether he’s ok.

He nods, ducking his head discretely to try and obscure any line of sight Jonny might get but he shouldn’t have worried because as soon as Jonny’s there, he’s gone again, slipping into some private backroom away from prying eyes and curious ears. “Uhh… just thought I saw someone I used to know,” Patrick explains, staring down at his steak and starting to panic. He has a gut feeling that this will end up an absolute fucking disaster if Jonny spots him.

They probably need to leave if he doesn’t want to risk Jonny seeing him.

First dates kind of suck, Patrick realises. It’s half these probing little questions that Patrick can’t answer (‘ _do you have family? Oh, where are they? How did you come to be in Chicago? What made you decide to start college late?_ ’ etc.) and half these awkward silences where Patrick wants to look anywhere but at those innocent blue fucking eyes because he can’t seem to remember his _fucking name_.

He rushes through the rest of his meal, taking larger sips of his wine to wash it down, trying to covertly signal for this guy to hurry the fuck up but he seems oblivious, wine glass still half full and meal only half eaten by the time Patrick is done. He’s too busy talking to eat, Patrick starts to lament, and he’s too distracted by a potential encounter with the guy he kind of broke up with to pick up even half of what this guy is spouting. By the time he does finish Patrick’s hands are clammy with nerves and he suggests getting the cheque, but his date pouts prettily, a hand sliding over his as he suggests dessert because ‘ _I feel like I’ve been talking the whole night Pat, it’d be such a shame for the night to end now when I want to hear more about you_.’

Patrick kind of wants to throttle him (which is a little disconcerting) and he opens his mouth to ask for the cheque anyway when the waitress comes to collect their plates, but his date steamrolls right over the top of him, asking for the dessert menu instead. Patrick just… resigns himself to it. He deliberately keeps a hold of the menu when the waitress wonders back to them eventually to take their order (maybe he can hide behind it if Jonny exits the building the same way). Patrick gets a coffee and slice of something that seems like it’ll be death by chocolate because he fucking deserves it at this point—Jonny might kill him tonight so death by chocolate seems like a fitting end.

Patrick only starts to relax when they’re nearing the end of their dessert, chocolate heavy on his tongue, and Jonny hasn’t reappeared. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be lucky enough to finish up before Jonny finishes whatever it is that bought him to some cheap ass steak joint. Better yet, maybe there’s a back entrance that Jonny used, and he didn’t see a thing.

Naturally, just as he’s feeling like he might be safe, Jonny fucking appears of thin air with Sharpy and B2 (his name is Saad apparently) and pulls up a chair to their already small table. Patrick tries not to react, flicks his eyes over Jonny’s face (yeah Patrick can’t read him, so he may be murdered in the near future especially given his last exit) and then returns to his date who looks very confused by the interruption. An uncomfortable silence falls over their table, Jonny ordering himself a coffee when the waitress almost trips over herself to get there as quickly as possible as she sees him sit down. Jonny is just staring at Patrick and nobody says anything until he’s been given his coffee (that’s not even on the menu, Patrick would like to add).

“Patrick,” Jonny says after taking a sip of his fancy coffee. Sharpy and Saad are just standing there awkwardly and Patrick glares at them until they turn around, pretending to give them privacy. Fucking awkward losers.

“Oh?” his date says, relaxing back into his chair. “You’re a friend of Patrick’s?” he asks Jonny with a smile.

Jonny’s eyes don’t move from Patrick’s face as he snorts indignantly and says rather childishly, “sure. Friends.”

Sharpy is looking up at the ceiling as if that’ll help him not hear the fucking train wreck this is likely to be.

“How do you know Patrick?” he continues on, seemingly oblivious to this entire situation.

Jonny is a keg that’s about three seconds from blowing… someone needs to buy this kid a clue.

“We met at a club,” Patrick rushes out, before Jonny can say anything. He quirks an eyebrow at Patrick, as if to say ‘ _oh really? That’s what you’re going to run with after I’ve had my cock up your ass in increasingly creative ways for the last few months?_ ’

The guy just laughs nervously, eventually picking up on the tension at the table, because Jonny is still just sitting there, patient as ever as he drinks his coffee and stares Patrick down.

“Well… uh… it was nice to meet you, I guess. Pat? Should we maybe… go?”

Oh, Patrick thinks, wishing he could roll his eyes, _now_ he wants to leave, when Pat has half his chocolate cake thing (honestly he can’t tell if it’s a brownie or cake at this point) left to eat and he actually wants to eat it because this is his life right now.

“ _Pat_ isn’t going anywhere,” Jonny says dismissively.

“ _Pat_ ,” Patrick says, suddenly angry at Jonny (because fuck him), “is going to do whatever the hell he wants to.”

Innocent blue eyes does not look happy at that tone. Patrick’s supposed to gentle and sweet, not hissing and spitting at a guy that looks like he could gut him in 30 seconds and has bodyguards.

“Is… is everything ok?” he asks, looking between Patrick and Jonny with confusion.

“I suggest,” Jonny says, his voice taking a dangerous edge that has his date looking very nervous and rather scared, “that you fuck off before I decide it would be a better idea to shoot you for touching what’s mine.”

His date looks freaked out and right now he really wishes he could remember his name. “He won’t shoot you,” Patrick reassures, “he’s just being a dick.” Well… he thinks Jonny won’t shoot him. That would seem like a messy thing to take care of if he were to follow through on the threat.

“Do you really want to test that theory?” Jonny asks, looking at his date for the first time since this whole encounter started. “Do you trust Patrick with your life?”

“Yeah I’m tapping out of this,” his date says (probably wisely), standing and pulling his jacket on. “Pat, thanks for dinner. Call me when you sort whatever this is out, yeah?”

Patrick nods, watching innocent blue eyes leave and ignoring the way it makes Jonny’s grip on his coffee tighten. He’s surprised the coffee cup hasn’t shattered.

They’re blanketed in silence again, Patrick going back to his chocolate concoction like a petulant child. Because he’s committed to finishing this dessert now, fuck everyone else.

Jonny, still patient, finishes his coffee as Patrick finishes his chocolate experiment. When Patrick pulls out his wallet to pay, Jonny makes an abortive motion. “It’s already been taken care of; the car is waiting.”

Patrick knows he’s deep in the shit given Jonny’s flat tone. His barely controlled anger is making Pat’s blood heat in a way that should probably concern him. He throws down a few clean bills on the table anyway (to make up for the absolute shit show) and leaves, letting Jonny follow behind.

He has absolutely no plans to go with Jonny, especially after the possessive asshole ruined his date and he’s called things off, so he turns when he gets out the restaurant, walking away instead of to the car he knows is Jonny’s.

The grip on the back of his neck is sharp and painful, Jonny’s fingers digging in cruelly as he pulls Patrick to a stop.

“Don’t play games, Patrick. You’re coming with me tonight whether you like it or not.”

Patrick forces himself not to react to Jonny’s hot breath in his ear, instead, pushing himself away and breaking Jonny’s hold with practiced ease. He’s angry, _so angry_ , but also a bit turned on at the authority in Jonny’s voice.

“You can’t order me around like I’m one of your fucking employees,” Patrick spits at him, eyes narrowing in anger.

“Get in the car Patrick,” Jonny orders, wording and tone deliberate.

“Fuck you! You ruined my date and we have nothing to discuss; I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Oh? Is that what that was? You should choose your dates better; he seemed a little twitchy.”

“Because you fucking threatened to shoot him!” Patrick yells, exasperated.

“I did,” Jonny says matter-of-factly, “now get in the fucking car or I’ll make you.”

Patrick considers him for a second before turning and making a run for it, because fuck this guy and his douchebag attitude. Patrick should probably be less surprised than he is when he’s thrown into the trunk of Jonny’s car by Sharpy and Saad less than five minutes later.

He gives up as soon as the trunk is slammed shut, better to conserve his energy for the fight they’re going to have whenever they get to their destination.

\--

Patrick’s fists and knees are out as soon as the trunk clicks open and Jonny’s smug face pops into view. They’ve left enough space, so he’s forced to crawl out on his own but he’s trying to kill (well… hit repeatedly) Jonny as soon as he’s standing straight in the underground parking lot.

Jonny signals Sharpy and Saad off discretely because Patrick wonn’t be able to inflict much damage even if he was trying to (if only he knew how wrong that thought actually is). He also feels uncomfortably aroused by Pat’s display of defiance and this might end up with sex… well, that’s where he wants this to end up. He knows Patrick doesn’t like them, doesn’t like being followed or monitored so his staff interrupting would make this situation worse, not better.

Patrick isn’t half bad Jonny reluctantly admits after being punched in the ribs a few times, but he’s impatient and while playing with Patrick like this is interesting, he’d prefer it if they were naked.

Jonny is grinning, a wild light in his eyes when he eventually subdues Patrick. Patrick’s arms are crossed across his chest, being held down by Jonny’s arms that are circled around him tightly. Patrick is trying kick him (and headbutt him, but luckily the little shit is short enough that his aim is off) but at this point it’s just useless flailing because Jonny’s grip is tight as he drags him to the lift.

Sharpy and Saad catch a few stray kicks on the way up to the suite and Patrick is swearing blue murder to anyone that’s listening. Jonny is more surprised that he hasn’t flagged yet. He’s been fighting him every step of the way and he hasn’t tired yet… excellent stamina for a college student.

Patrick lets out a very frustrated scream when Jonny throws him rather unceremoniously into the hotel room (Jonny needs to close and lock the door without worrying about being punched in the back thank you very much).

“You motherfucker! I cannot believe you fucking kidnapped me you fucking psycho!” Patrick yells. Jonny is seriously over-stepping here and Patrick is _pissed_ about it. Whatever their unspoken arrangement, it definitely wasn’t exclusive, so Jonny has no basis for peacocking and being a dick to his _actual_ date. “Jonny,” Patrick says, voice low with warning and eyes shining with defiance as Jonny approaches him again. “I cannot stress this fact enough,” he hisses, shoving Jonny hard enough that he has to take a step back, “you do not own me. I do not belong to you.”

Patrick gasps at the hand that’s wrapped tight around his throat a second later. His grip is not so tight as to stop him from breathing but tight enough that Pat doesn’t try to struggle as Jonny pushes him back until his back hits a wall. His eyes are bright, his smile kind of starting to go feral and Patrick is equal parts aroused and angry. He pushes back against Jonny’s hand and bares his teeth in a hiss when Jonny tuts at him, the hand around his throat squeezing a little tighter in warning.

He gets no warning before Jonny’s mouth is on his, hard and unforgiving. Patrick presses his lips closed defiantly, refusing to let himself kiss back because you do not reward bad behaviour with life-affirming sex. Jonny doesn’t let up though, coaxing his lips into a response, smiling meanly against his mouth when Patrick parts his lips involuntarily. Jonny’s tongue fucks into his mouth and the kiss is so fucking wet and dirty and… and Patrick is supposed to be angry at this asshole but that’s hard to do when he has no self-control when it comes to Jonny. This… this kiss is all about dominance, about Jonny showing him, telling him that he owns Patrick whether he likes it or not.

Patrick sucks Jonny’s bottom lip between his teeth before he bites down, hard. Because Jonny fucking deserves it. He’s glaring up Jonny, whose hand is still wrapped tight around Patrick’s throat, when he pulls back with a hiss. He touches his lip, running his tongue over the inside of his mouth to assess the damage and he looks a little shocked when his fingers come away with a little blood, like he never believed that Patrick would be capable of something like it. His expression transforms quickly and the grin he’s wearing really _is_ feral because his bottom teeth are half coated with blood. This should not be something that Patrick is turned on by but it’s definitely ticking a box Patrick never even knew he had.

Fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound. Patrick reaches up and pulls Jonny down licking into his mouth as if to apologise for making him bleed. He licks at Jonny’s bottom lip, gentle before pulling him in deeper. The kiss is just a continuation of their fight, it’s hot, hard and he can taste Jonny’s blood on tongue.

He’s clawing at Jonny to get his clothes off because he needs Jonny’s cock in him like ten minutes ago. He gets on board pretty quickly, stripping them efficiently. Patrick’s shirt doesn’t survive the ordeal, buttons flying off in different directions when Jonny becomes too impatient to deal with them.

Patrick’s shoulders are pressed into the wall as he arches his back, legs tight around Jonny’s waist, trying to get Jonny _in_ him. But Jonny just bites him (the asshole) and shifts so Patrick can’t feel the hard line of his dick anymore. He shamelessly lets out a sound of frustration because _what the fuck_ is Jonny doing? He moves again, hitching Patrick higher before wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist and fucking walking them to the bed. Patrick is so turned on because people like Jonny shouldn’t be allowed to exist.

They fall back onto the bed, Jonny bracing himself over Patrick, so he’s not squashed in the landing. Jonny isn’t careful as he fingers Patrick open, messy and wet because clearly, he lost control of the fucking lube in his haste. Patrick is moaning and pushing himself back onto Jonny’s long and perfectly thick fingers though, doesn’t care if Jonny is little rough with him because he can take it, wants it, is still feeling the anger burning in him.

They fuck, hard and dirty and fast, the only sounds filling the room the slapping of Jonny’s hips against his and Patrick’s fucking moaning because Jonny just _knows_ where his prostate is and hits it hard every fucking time. Patrick makes grabby hands for Jonny, letting out a pleased sound when Jonny throws his knees over his elbows, pushing him open wider as covers Patrick with his body, pressing him into the mattress with his weight. Patrick complains though, wriggles around until Jonny lets go of his legs so he can wrap them tight around Jonny again, along with his arms, and pull him into a deep kiss.

Patrick digs his nails into Jonny’s shoulders as he starts to fuck into him again, the angle isn’t quite right but Patrick’s dick is getting plenty of action being squeezed between their bodies. Jonny must like it because he comes with a low groan as Patrick rakes his nails down Jonny’s back. Patrick comes just from feeling Jonny come buried deep in him.

\--

“Would you really have shot him?” Patrick mumbles into Jonny’s shoulder, slow and sleepy. He doesn’t think he can go another round tonight, not now that the last of the adrenaline has just leached out of him.

Jonny pulls him closer in a possessive gesture that’s unfamiliar to the both of them. “If he hadn’t walked away? Maybe. Probably.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Patrick sighs, poking him in the ribs where he knows Jonny has a bruise from their earlier _disagreement_.

Jonny shrugs, his shoulder moving beneath Patrick’s head. “You’re here, aren’t you? Asshole or not, I got what I wanted tonight. Pretty sure you did too.”

Patrick hums non-committedly because he will never admit out loud that Jonny was on his mind for most of that date and _he still can’t remember his date’s fucking name_. Christ… Jonny’s ruined him.


	8. Chapter 8

Patrick doesn’t mean for it to happen—he never does, trouble just seems to find him no matter how hard he tries to hide from it. He doesn’t remember a lot from that night either, only bits and pieces that don’t make all that much sense to him because Jonny had broken his heart even though he hadn’t realised he could. How is he ever supposed to get over the guy if he can’t see anyone other than Jonny?

For once, he’s convinced Tyler to find a different hunting ground for the night. But knowing that Tyler relies on good money Patrick suggests somewhere that’s a little more highbrow than they’re both used to. He assures Tyler that he can charge as much as he wants and that the men hidden away in this particular bar will happily pay for the services Tyler offers—but, he tells Tyler to always make sure to secure payment first and a sneaky knife hidden in the ankle of a boot is never inadvisable because rich men also don’t like to pay when they don’t have to.

Tyler grins, accepting the challenge. Patrick guesses it’s because he looks like shit. He hasn’t heard from Jonny since the night he interrupted Patrick’s date (followed by mind blowing angry sex… again). It’s been a few weeks and Patrick just doesn’t know what Jonny wants from him because he’s blowing hot and cold all the time—he can’t date anyone, move on, but at the same time he’s just sitting in limbo.

To make matters worse… it’s his wedding anniversary. The cherry to top it all off is that someone has offered ‘Peekaboo’ a lot of money to track down one Patrick Timothy Kane II. He feels like his life is unravelling around him and he’s not sure how much longer he should stick around in Chicago—but he doesn’t want to leave, is honestly a bit tired of feeling like he’s being hunted (and not in the good way that Jonny makes him feel hunted).

The bar is discrete and the music loud enough that you have to lean in and get close to hear people speak. It’s a haunt of the wealthy and Patrick doesn’t usually frequent places like this because he finds them seedy and the men are ugly as hell on the inside. But he won’t be found here, can mourn and celebrate in peace and not have to worry about being found by Jonny. The staff let them in because he’s flashing the kind of cash that matters in a joint like this, but the clientele turn their noses up as soon as they see him. He might have the money to get in, but he doesn’t dress like it. He hopes it’s enough of a deterrent that people will leave him well enough alone for the night.

They find an empty table tucked away in the corner of the bar and a waitress appears to take their order within a few minutes. Patrick hands her a wad of cash to cover the evening and tells her his drink should never be empty. Tyler doesn’t say anything as she walks away, only squeezing Patrick’s shoulder in reassurance.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Patrick says, giving Tyler a small smile. “I really, really don’t.”

“Ok. Can I at least ask if this is Jonny related or pre-Chicago related?”

“All of the above?”

“Ah,” Tyler nods. “Right. What do you need from me tonight?”

“I need you to go pull a John and swindle the guy out of all his money,” Patrick replies. “I’m going to sit here and drown my sorrows. What I need from you…” he trails off, looking down at the table for a moment, “just make sure you don’t leave me behind. I need to forget today.”

Tyler nods in reply, smiling at the waitress in thanks as she places their drinks on the table and turns to observe the room. Patrick downs three shots of tequila before nursing whiskey that he can’t remember the name of while Tyler provides a running commentary of their surroundings.

Patrick knows he’s horrible company tonight, but he allows himself to get lost in his thoughts and the lull of Tyler’s voice. He thinks he’s probably allowed to have a small mental breakdown on his second wedding anniversary. The memory of that night is still vivid, losing none of its detail despite the years that have followed. He knows that means he has an issue, that there’s something broken in his head that needs fixing, but he’s not sure he wants to forget that night either. It’s a sharp and hurtful reminder about why he’s here, why he should stay away from Jonny.

He doesn’t notice when Tyler slips away because he’s started berating himself about getting involved with Jonny. He wonders how he could’ve walked into the… the… toxic arrangement he has with him despite his misgivings. Spitefully he wonders why he ever left Enda if he was just going to abuse himself with another asshole of a partner anyway. What was the point of getting free from one asshole when he just walks into the arms of another? To be fair, Enda is all about human trafficking (which Patrick has strong opinions about) and operates on a level of cruelty that he’s yet to see from Jonny, but he’s not sure what Jonny’s main business is. He doesn’t seem like the kind of criminal that would get involved with sex crimes and kids but then… then he never expected his own family would be willing to sell him either.

“You here alone tonight, baby?”

Patrick snaps out of his thoughts immediately. His head is feeling fuzzy, definitely a sign he is well on his way to wasted. He hadn’t realised how much time had passed or how much he’d been drinking until now. He looks around and spots Tyler draping himself over what he thinks might be a local politician before answering his unwanted guest.

“No.”

“Well, you look lonely, son,” he says with a smile. “Let me keep you company while your friends are busy.”

Patrick flinches back when the hand reach out to touch his forearm resting on the table. “ _No_ ,” he repeats. Seriously, as if calling him ‘son’ is going to get the guy anywhere, gross. “Thanks for the offer but I’m happy to wait for my friends alone.”

“Aw, that’s a shame to hear. A pretty little thing like you should never be left alone.”

Patrick is conscious of the fact that he doesn’t want to cause a scene in this kind of establishment because it’ll end up in the news, so he gives the guy a tight smile instead of throwing his drink in his face like he wants to. “It’s ok, really. They won’t be long.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice low and babying. It makes Patrick feel queasy. “I think my friends and I would be much more appreciative of your company tonight than your so-called friends,” he continues.

“No means no, asshole,” Patrick eventually growls, looking over at the group of middle-aged men that are looking over surreptitiously.

“No need to be rude, sweetheart,” the man says, getting up and shooting Patrick a dirty smile full of unwanted promises. “I’ll come over later and see how you’re feeling then, shall I?”

“Please don’t. The answer will still be no,” Patrick assures the guy.

“We’ll see,” he replies before turning away and heading back to his circle of friends.

It’s another hour and Tyler has disappeared—probably into one of the hotel rooms on the upper levels. He’s feeling increasingly uncomfortable ever since the waitress had changed. She looks kind of mean and she pays way too much attention to the group of creepy guys that keep shooting him glances after their friend had returned. It’s when he starts to feel like he’s slipping underwater that he thinks it’s probably time he tries to find Tyler because he is _way_ more drunk than even he realised. His eyes and limbs feel heavy and when he tries to stand, he slumps back into his chair ungracefully, drawing the attention of people around him.

There’s some tittering around him, as if him being blind drunk is fodder for gossip but the joke’s on them because none of them run in the circles he does. He gives himself a minute before trying again but all that happens is he bumps the table while trying to keep his legs and a glass tumbles to the ground shattering loudly.

The next thing he knows there’s some stranger propping him up and speaking to the waitress who looks angry at having to clean up the mess. He’s kind of freaking out because when he tries to apologise to her all that comes out is gibberish, like he can’t form words properly. God… he feels so tired, his head lolling back. He hasn’t had this much to drink in years—usually he’s just a dumbass when he drinks, but this whole feeling tired thing is new. He thinks he prefers feeling tired to becoming a giant drunk douchebag though.

He’s losing bits and pieces of time as well, as he usually does when hits blackout drunk. He hasn’t realised they’ve moved until he feels the slap of the crisp Chicago night air on his face. He starts panicking seriously then because whoever is with him is definitely not Tyler and to top it off, he thinks there’s more than one of them. His panic gives him a burst of strength that has him shoving the person away from him, but he trips over himself and lands on the concrete of what must be the sidewalk instead. He’s trying so hard to stand up, but he keeps stumbling and every time he tries, he hears laughter around him. What the fuck is going on and where the hell is Tyler?

He doesn’t remember a lot of what follows… _alcohol_. He’s never fucking drinking again… at least until his next anniversary, and definitely alone at home next time.

\--

Some of the night manages to stick with him. He remembers being carried somewhere and waking up with a hand running through his curls. He remembers waking up only to throw up in a bucket conveniently located next to the bed.

What he doesn’t remember could, apparently, fill an encyclopaedia. Between Tyler and Jonny he eventually manages to piece his night together and he’s fucking never drinking that much again. Thinking back, he probably did at least a bottle of something strong—he’s lucky he didn’t give himself alcohol poisoning.

\--

Jonny has him. He’s not sure when or how, but something in his chest loosens because Jonny is _safe_ … well, safe in the sense that he won’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to when he can’t string a sentence together. Jonny is dangerous to others and he’s going to ruin Patrick because saving him from what could’ve ended up as rape is bordering on chivalrous and Patrick really doesn’t know how to feel about that. So, he does what he always does—shoves the fear deep down and pretends everything is ok. One day he hopes he’ll convince himself that he doesn’t have to be afraid of anything or anyone.

When he eventually wakes up, he’s in a lot of pain. His head is killing him, and his stomach is churning rather violently but he doesn’t want to move because someone is combing their fingers through Pat’s (gross) curls. He groans and turns his face into his pillow which turns out to be someone’s lap. Patrick is aware of things in a vague sense—all he really wants to do is throw up, shower and crawl back into bed.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Jonny?” Patrick replies, his voice hoarse. He sounds like shit and feels like shit, but he’d know that voice anywhere.

“Mmmm,” Jonny agrees, fingers snagging on a knot in Patrick’s hair. “How do you feel?” he asks again.

“No comment.”

“Unsurprising considering how much you ended up drinking last night,” Jonny says, voice flat.

Patrick can feel the heaviness of Jonny’s judgement, he doesn’t even have to look to know what expression Jonny is wearing. There’s a flash of guilt at making him worry, because he does think Jonny was worried, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want to investigate that too much though given their on-off casual sex relationship thing. Can it really be called a relationship though? They don’t know much about each other, are still learning each other’s bodies.

Patrick’s mind is drifting, and he feels himself dipping into sleep when his stomach turns again. He groans as pushes himself up, pausing as the room spins. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself not to throw up on the bed because he’s already embarrassed himself enough.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Patrick huffs out an indignant noise, rolling off the bed and onto floor. Fuck standing or walking… it’s going to be a crawl of shame but it’s the only way the contents of his stomach is going to stay in until he reaches the toilet. “I’m going to go lock myself in the bathroom before I throw up on your sheets.”

“… don’t lock the door,” Jonny replies eventually, watching Patrick crawl to the bathroom.

Patrick spends the next few hours with his head in the toilet, Jonny holding his hair out of the way (not that it’s long enough for him to do that but Patrick isn’t complaining) and occasionally wiping his face and the back his neck with a cool cloth. When his stomach eventually feels like its settling Patrick feels shaky and weak and he’s crying. Fuck he’s pathetic and now is not the time for an emotional breakdown because this is definitely not a side of himself he ever wants anyone to see, especially Jonny.

Jonny takes it all in stride though, sitting next to Patrick on the floor and pulling him into his chest and Patrick doesn’t even fight it, burrowing close and letting go. When Patrick’s sobs subside into silent tears and hiccups Jonny moves away, stepping into the shower to turn it on and then pulling Patrick up and stripping him efficiently before checking the temperature of the water and gently pushing Patrick underneath the spray. Patrick curls in on himself, thinking Jonny will just leave him now, like he has so many times before. He startles when he feels Jonny’s fingers drag down his spine followed by the press of Jonny’s chest against his back.

Having Jonny shower with him is an intimacy he thought they’d never share again—he’s exhausted and emotionally wrung out, so he lets Jonny gently move him around as he washes Patrick’s hair and runs soap over his skin. He’s shivering and curled into Jonny’s chest by the time the water is switched off. Jonny takes his time as he dries Patrick, careful in a way he’s never been before. Patrick looks up at Jonny as he’s running a towel gently over his curls—he looks so serious, as if drying Patrick’s hair is the most important thing in the world at this point in time and Patrick’s heart just… does this thing where Patrick feels so much all at once it feels like a weight has been put on his chest. He presses up, planting a kiss on the line Jonny’s jaw. Jonny doesn’t stop his task, but his expression softens, and it makes Patrick smile.

Jonny disappears while Patrick brushes his teeth and reappears with a fluffy white hotel robe that Patrick looks like he’s drowning in. He’s not small by any measure, but the bathrobe is huge and warm, so Patrick lets Jonny bundle him up and push him back into bed. The sheets have been changed since he got up and there’s a room service trolley with some plain looking sandwiches, bottles of water, a jug of orange juice and a pot of coffee. Jonny drinks a coffee as he gets dressed, pulling a clean suit from the closet.

Patrick watches him, curled into a nest of blankets, as he absentmindedly picks at the sandwiches. He’s not that hungry but he needs to eat something and get a bottle of water down before he can take any painkillers.

“I have some work to take care of,” Jonny explains as he pulls his jacket on.

God, if Patrick’s head didn’t feel like it was about to split open, he’d definitely be a lot more interested in the way those tailored pants were hugging Jonny’s ass and thighs. He really is a god amongst men.

Patrick looks up at Jonny as he approaches, his palm sliding against Patrick’s cheek as he swipes a thumb over Patrick’s bottom lip. Patrick turns his head to press a kiss into Jonny’s palm. He’s feeling raw and sentimental and probably giving Jonny a lot more affection than he should given their current situation.

“Stay,” Jonny orders before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Patrick can’t be fucked moving, so he obeys and curls back into the clean sheets and blankets and goes back to sleep. If Jonny isn’t going to tell him to leave, he figures he’ll stay… at least util his head doesn’t feel like it’s being split open with an axe.

\--

The next time Patrick wakes up he feels a lot better and he has Jonny curled around him at his back. He’s in a cocoon of warmth and he never wants to leave so he wiggles back a little, pressing himself as close to Jonny as he can get.

Jonny lets out a small sound of amusement, tightening the arm around Patrick’s waist. “Awake then?”

“Mmmm,” Patrick agrees sleepily.

They doze together for a while longer, content to be basking in each other for a moment. But Jonny ruins the moment when he tugs at the collar of the bathrobe Patrick is still wearing so he can start sucking kisses into the smooth skin of his shoulder that Jonny exposed. Patrick makes a sleepy noise of interest as Jonny’s wandering hand sneaks underneath the robe, tracing his fingers tantalisingly slow up the outside of Patrick’s thigh before coming to rest on his hip.

Patrick and his dick are definitely interested. Sleepy post-hangover-from-hell sex seems like a real solid idea right now. He shifts, pulling the knee of his top leg to his chest to give Jonny easier access. Jonny smiles against his shoulder at Patrick’s gasp as he drags his fingers up and down Patrick’s crack, fingers snagging gently on Patrick’s sensitive rim.

Patrick let’s out a hiss when he feels Jonny’s finger, cold with lube, circle his hole, playing with his rim. When Jonny eventually sinks a finger into him, Patrick sighs in contentment.

“You like it, don’t you? You like it when my fingers are stuffed in you.”

“I’d like it better if it was your cock stuffed deep in me,” Patrick snaps back impatiently, pushing back onto Jonny’s probing finger.

Jonny tuts at him, clearly deciding that this will only go as fast as he wants it to. Patrick is growing more impatient when Jonny eventually presses a second finger into him.

“More,” he demands, clenching himself around Jonny’s fingers.

“When I’m ready,” Jonny breathes, hot into his ear as he crooks his fingers in just the right way to have Patrick writhing.

It feels like hours before Jonny slips a third finger into him and he’s so desperate for the feel of Jonny seated inside him he starts to beg. “Please, Jonny… _please_ …”

“What do you want Patrick?” Jonny asks, slowly dragging his fingers in and out of Patrick.

“Your cock, buried in my ass you dick,” Patrick huffs out, annoyed. “If you don’t do it soon…ahhhh _fuck_ …” he trails off as Jonny shoves his fingers deep, crooking them so they brush over his prostate again. “Fuck you,” Patrick whines, hands tightening in the sheets as Jonny pulls his fingers out to start playing with his rim.

“You want me to fill you up, Pat? Fuck you until the only thing you can feel is me?”

“Yeah, Jonny,” Patrick mumbles. “Please, _please_.”

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he reassures.

“ _Jonny_ ,” Patrick whines.

“I know, baby, I know.”

Patrick becomes incoherent when he feels the tip of Jonny’s cock eventually touch his rim. Jesus he is so gone on sex with this guy.

“This what you want, Pat?” Jonny asks breathily as he starts thrusting into Patrick with slow, shallow strokes, pressing himself a little deeper each time.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” Patrick sighs as he tries to press himself back onto Jonny. He wants him deeper; he wants to feel _full_.

By the time Jonny is bottomed out, pressed deep into Patrick’s tight heat Patrick is a mess. Jonny takes his time though, fucking into Patrick with these annoyingly slow and shallow thrusts that have Patrick’s toes curling with pleasure but not enough to push him over the edge like he so wants (like he needs).

Jonny clearly wants to take his time though, drag out the pleasure for both of them, because every time Patrick feels himself on the edge of coming, Jonny will stop moving, his fingers wrapped around the base of Patrick’s cock to stop him from coming.

Patrick sobs when he’s eventually allowed to come, and Jonny is… Jonny is perfection. They exchange lazy kisses, hands mapping out new and familiar skin as they both fall asleep again.

\--

It’s Sunday, or so Jonny tells him the next time they’re awake. Patrick is starving because the last thing he ate were some shitty sandwiches, so he pokes Jonny’s ribs until he orders them something to eat. When Jonny returns to bed, he curls up around Patrick again, pulling him against his chest. Patrick doesn’t complain, stretching back into Jonny and letting slip a sigh of happiness as Jonny wraps an arm tightly around his waist again.

Patrick never wants to leave this bubble they’ve created for themselves for the weekend, but he knows reality can only be kept at bay for so long. However, he plans to take advantage of this version of Jonny for as long as possible because this… this is the kind of thing he dreams about on occasion. Patrick is dozing again when Jonny decides to burst the bubble.

“What happened, Pat?”

Patrick immediately tenses up at the question. So much for basking in the feeling of contentment. He tries to pull away, because Jonny should know better than to ask, but Jonny’s arm around his waist pulls him back and holds him in place.

“Patrick,” he says, voice dipping into a warning. “We’re going to talk about this whether you want to or not.”

“Why?” Patrick replies, voice and expression dark as he locks his shit down. “Talking about it isn’t going to change anything, Jonathon.”

“I’d rather not have a repeat of this weekend. Well… Friday, I’d rather not have a repeat of Friday night.”

“Who says you’ll be around long enough to see it repeated? It’s _just sex_ , remember?” Patrick says flatly, throwing Jonny’s words from his original proposition back at him. If he’s being honest, he’s still hurt and bitter about being stood up, about being led on, about being basically kidnapped…

The arm around his waist moves quickly, gripping Patrick’s chin and turning his head as he moves to loom over Patrick. Patrick is pure defiance, his lips pressed into a tight line and his blue eyes shining as they meet Jonny’s.

He’s gearing himself up for a fight, Jonny realises. “I think,” Jonny says carefully, “we both know you belong to me.”

Patrick bares his teeth in a snarl as he shoves at Jonny to get off of him. Jonny doesn’t budge, only looks at Patrick with a hint of amusement. Patrick’s fight-or-flight response is clearly geared towards fight and Jonny, worryingly, is beginning to find it endearing.

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Patrick hisses, pushing at Jonny’s shoulders again. “You’re not even close to earning me.”

Jonny tilts his head as he thinks about Patrick’s response—it implies that Patrick could be earned in the first place. He’s not sure he’d ever considered that that would be an option. Patrick is so prickly outside of sex he’s difficult to read, it’s what drew Jonny to him in the first place. “And if I want to? Earn you?” he asks, voice serious.

And that definitely gets a reaction, Patrick knows he looks confused because he has no idea what to do with that. Why would Jonny _want_ to earn him? When had this become something else entirely?

His expression closes off again as he closes eyes to avoid Jonny’s gaze and pulls his chin out of Jonny’s relaxed grip. “I can’t,” Patrick eventually replies.

Because he definitely can’t, if Jonny knew who he really was he’d be sold out in heartbeat—loyalty in the families means returning what doesn’t belong to you. Patrick isn’t worth the trouble of keeping, of earning, when he’s married to the head of another family… because, Patrick has come to realise, Jonny is definitely part of a family. Patrick already has a husband; he already belongs to someone else.

“Can’t what?”

“You can’t earn me; you can’t have me… I don’t belong to you,” Patrick says instead of what he wants to say… that he can’t do this because he’ll never be able to earn Jonny in return.

Jonny’s expression is… fucking _intrigued_? Patrick doesn’t think he’s ever been told he can’t have something he wants. Which is problematic… because he thinks Jonny took what he said as a challenge rather than a rejection.

“Are you willing to bet your life on that?” Jonny asks.

Patrick doesn’t respond, just takes advantage of Jonny’s relaxed grip on him to pull away and get up. Jonny watches him as he gets dressed and Patrick feels like he’s underneath a microscope.

“Thank you for… for this weekend,” Patrick pauses when gets to the bedroom doorway. He can’t look back at Jonny, knows he won’t be able to leave if he sees him sitting up in bed, sheets pooled around his hips. “For looking after me,” he finishes before leaving.

\--

Tyler tells it like this—

“So, like, I was coming to look for you because the John I pulled paid for my rent for like three months, Patty. He was super sweet too, actually gave me his name, Jamie in case you were wondering, and asked if he could have my number for repeat performances. And Pat, that man knows how to use his dick and as a professional, I can definitely tell you that not a lot of guys that pay for sex know how to use their dick. Anyway,” he continues, “so here I am looking for you when I realise the creepy businessmen group have you and are taking you out of the bar. If I’d have known you’d get that drunk, Pat, I’d never have left you alone. You can’t do that to me again! You scared the shit out of me—I had no idea what I was going to do to get you away from five assholes!” he berates.

Patrick shrugs, staring resolutely at the ceiling. They’re at Patrick’s place, spread over the couch with a hockey game on in the background. Tyler had come over as soon as Patrick had let him know he was home, and everything was ok. “I haven’t done that in a while. I don’t think I’ve ever had that much to drink to be honest.”

“Yeah… well… don’t do it again. Please. So, I’m like creeping behind the creepers waiting for the perfect opportunity to swoop in and rescue you. I’m guessing these guys were total amateurs because they had no idea what to do with your deadweight, but it looked like were trying real hard to pick you up after you just went super unconscious. I was about to interrupt them to video them, blackmail you know? What guy wants to end up on the news for trying to take advantage of some dude that’s comatose on the side of the road? Anyway, I’m just about to do my thing when Jonny just fucking materialises out of thin air. He’s literally like your knight in shining fucking armour, Pat, a knight with an ass that should be illegal and a gun that probably _is_ illegal.”

He really does have buns fresh out the bakery, Patrick concedes.

“He almost walked past you, but he totally realised who you were and doubled back pretty quick. He didn’t look very happy with you, Pat. I mean he was pissed about those creepers, but he also looked upset about you. So, like… he shot one of the dudes in the leg after they got into a bit of a disagreement over who you belonged to, I guess?”

“He did _what_?” Patrick squawks, sitting up to look at Tyler who is nodding furiously.

“I know, right! I know! To be fair… I was definitely _not_ expecting the gun,” Tyler says, momentarily confused. “But it worked, so all’s well that ends well right? They all ran off pretty quick after that and the lead creeper was just crying and begging for his life. Jonny had people with him though, and I’m not sure what he said to them but one of them called a car and took the lead creeper with the bullet in his leg. I’m hoping to the hospital but… this is not a big leap to make here Patty, I think they just finished the job. They don’t seem like the good Samaritan type.”

“What about me?” Patrick asks, because he’s going to leave Jonny ordering a kill until he has to process that revelation. It certainly brings that whole ‘earning Patrick’ thing into a different light.

“Oh, yeah. You were like dead to the world bro. He checked your pulse and everything. In the end he totally just picked you up all bridal style. It would have been so cute if you hadn’t been fucking passed out Patty. He held you like that until a car came and then you know what happened next right? He looked after you, right Patty?” Tyler asks. “Please tell me he didn’t take advantage… please?”

Patrick smiles at Tyler’s worry. “I’m ok, Segs,” he reassures, poking him in the ribs with his toes. He’s lying back on his couch with Tyler curled up at the other end. “He was, unexpectedly, a total gentleman. I have no idea what to do with that information though. He runs so hot and cold I never know what he wants from me.”

“Well he definitely wants to take care of you.”

Patrick just laughs in reply. He is in deep shit because he wants Jonny to take care of him and he’s starting to think Jonny actually wants to take care of him too.


	9. Chapter 9

Patrick has been distracted by a lot of things lately, but he knows he needs to figure out who exactly has been requesting information on him (well… on his former life). He doesn’t think it’s Jonny because he has no idea who Patrick is (or at least he’s reasonably certain because Jonny is hard to read but he’s sure the knowledge would’ve been used against him long before now if Jonny does know or suspect). His sisters would let him know if it were his family, well… he hopes his sisters would let him know. Which leaves him with his dearly beloved husband and any family wanting either leverage or an alliance.

It makes him nervous, because his online persona is just a drop in the ocean so if Peekaboo is being contacted to look into this information then there are others looking into it too. The file they sent him has more information than he expected which means his family coughed up information too—he knows the alliance with the Meagher family was more valuable than he was, but it still stings to see the evidence laid bare in front of him.

He scrolls though pages of information that touches on how long he’s been missing, the circumstances of his disappearance, known contacts, old bank account details, phone numbers he’s had previously, e-mail addresses they suspect him of using, where they’ve looked and where they haven’t. He needs to burn the account his sisters use to keep in touch with him—one of them has let slip the e-mail address.

They’ve ruled out kidnapping apparently, so the request is just a general inquiry into whether anyone in his known area of operations has come across anyone with Patrick’s physical description and if Peekaboo could comb through the data to see if they can find anything new. If only they knew.

For the first time since he disappeared, the packet of data includes photos of him. Desperate times he guesses, but it makes him wonder why Enda is so bent on finding him. Probably to kill him, Patrick realises… but it could be worse, Enda’s not exactly known for his leniency and killing Patrick would be lenient.

In between classes and study, he considers carefully what he needs to do, because he’s not sure if staying in one place would be advisable anymore. He doesn’t have a passport—it’s harder to fake one these days so it can be expensive to get, but not impossible. But he wants to finish his degree before he has to run again so that puts him in Chicago for at least another year. Leaving the country is problematic though because it unfortunately draws a lot of attention. He also doesn’t have contacts overseas so if he does run into trouble, he wouldn’t know who he’d be able to rely on or how he’d procure what he needs to get out of trouble. Developing relationships with those kinds of contacts takes time, but if he has another year in Chicago, he can at least make a start.

His plans are clear then—he needs to get out of the States and it’s going to take him a while to pull it all together. In the meantime, he needs to think about whether he’ll need a location in between Chicago and wherever it is he decides to go.

\--

Patrick _really_ needs to find a new job.

Jonny is patiently waiting for him outside the _Vanilla Bean_ at the end of his shift because it’s the only place, other than the university, where he knows Patrick will be.

“Toews,” Jonny blurts out when Patrick makes to walk away.

“What?” Patrick asks, turning to face Jonny again. He definitely misheard, because Toews is a big family that is spread out over Canada and the US, and if Jonny is… if Jonny is the heir…

“Jonathon Bryan Toews,” he replies, voice sure and strong, watching for Patrick’s reaction.

“You should _not_ have told me that.” Patrick doesn’t hide his surprise well—he probably should’ve tried pretending not to know what his name means.

“You know a lot more than you should, Patrick,” Jonny observes. “Certainly, a lot more than you let on. I trust you’ll keep it to yourself.”

Patrick understands the hidden warning, but he’s not in Chicago to cause trouble. He just wants to disappear. Given who Jonny is he can’t return the favour, is too scared to reveal the truth because Jonny isn’t stupid and people are looking for him, are willing to pay for him.

“Patrick Kane,” he says anyway. “Also… you’d probably know me better by the name Peekaboo,” Patrick reveals. “I… dabble in a few things. One of those things is information and laundering.”

“We’ve done business before,” Jonny acknowledges, surprised.

There’s more than one Peekaboo milling around online but as far as Patrick knows he’s the only one that dips into money laundering occasionally.

“We have,” Patrick agrees. The Toews captain based in Chicago had needed some money cleaned—not a significant sum because Patrick had been an unknown quantity at the time, but he’d picked up a few jobs from them since.

Everything feels so awkward. Patrick has no idea what Jonny wants; what Jonny gets out of Patrick knowing who he is.

“What are you doing here?” Patrick asks, breaking the silence.

“It’s been bought to my attention that I’ve kind of been a dick,” Jonny replies.

Patrick doesn’t disagree which makes Jonny scowl. Clearly the guy hates being called on his shit.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“I shouldn’t,” Patrick replies, reluctant to lie and say no because they’re just full of truths today.

“I don’t know what that means,” Jonny says as he moves closer to Patrick.

“It means that whatever this is,” Patrick says, gesturing between them, “is a bad idea, Jonny. For both of us.”

“Why?” Jonny presses, stepping toe-to-toe with Patrick and looking down into his eyes. Patrick looks afraid, and a little hopeful. He’s not sure what to do with either. “Tell me why one dinner is a bad idea and I’ll let you walk away right now.”

“ _Jonny_ ,” Patrick sighs, exasperated as lets his head fall forward onto Jonny’s shoulder.

Jonny’s hand slips around the back of Patrick’s neck, fingers tangling with the curls at Patrick’s nape as he gives him a reassuring squeeze. He dips his head, lips brushing Patrick’s ear as he asks again “Will you have dinner with me… please?”

“Are you going to take no for an answer?”

“No. But I thought I’d ask nicely first,” Jonny admits, shrugging. “I could always kidnap you again?”

Patrick huffs out a tired laugh before pulling away from Jonny. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“It might have been mentioned once or twice,” Jonny says, smug smile in place as he realises Patrick is caving. “I like to think of it as charm, though.”

Patrick’s laugh is… Jonny wants to hear it more, to be the one to make him smile, make him happy. He has no idea how this kid managed to worm his way underneath his skin, but he did, and Jonny isn’t going to let him go easily.

“Ok, Romeo,” Patrick smiles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yes, I’ll have dinner with you. I can’t tonight… but I’m free Wednesday if that’s ok?”

Jonny wants to force the issue, but Wednesday is only a few days away and he’s trying to be patient and _nice_ so he guesses he should concede Patrick this one request. He nods.

“Is there a number I can reach you on? In case… in case something comes up?” Patrick asks, suddenly shy.

Jonny’s eyes narrow as he considers Patrick’s request. “Only if I get yours in return. I mean it, Pat—it had better be a number that works.” Patrick is skittish at best; it wouldn’t surprise Jonny if he gave out false numbers for shits and giggles.

“Yeah, ok,” Patrick agrees.

Patrick has a date with a family heir and he’s freaking the fuck out.

\--

Patrick knows the way he dresses sometimes bothers Jonny. Jonny likes nice things, likes to look at nice things too, so it annoys him when Patrick isn’t dressed in his Sunday best whenever they see each other.

Patrick has a love-hate relationship with his wardrobe. He knows how to dress well but trying to come across as a student with very little cash to spare means certain concessions have to be made. He likes his appearance anyway, even if Jonny doesn’t. He likes that it’s so different from what’s been expected of him previously, he likes that he can just throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie after his session at the gym. Plus, the bonus is that his clothes help him blend in, help him come across as normal and naïve.

So, Jonny may hate the way he dresses most of the time, but he never says anything about it, he just peels Patrick out of his clothes as soon as they’re alone. Patrick isn’t complaining—naked is a good look on both of them.

Which is why he’s surprised when Sharpy greets him with a suit bag the day before their big date that Patrick has been low-key freaking out over.

“Ok?” Patrick says, confused and not reaching out to take the bag.

“Tazer wants to take you somewhere nice,” Sharpy replies, as if that explains everything.

“Ok?” Patrick says again, still confused. “Jonny is aware I have my own clothes, right?”

“Just take the damn suit,” Sharpy grumbles. “He didn’t want to make you buy something new if you didn’t have something already.”

“Is this some like weird ‘staking his claim’ thing?” Patrick asks, still not taking the suit.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

“He’s dated before, right? There must be a method to the madness.”

Sharpy throws his head back and laughs so hard Patrick is worried something might be wrong with him. He’s still catching his breath when he replies with, “I don’t think Jonny has ever had to work this hard to get sex, Peeks. The asshole is actually trying to secure your attention, which is why he keeps fucking this up so badly—he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s never had to try and woo someone before.”

“Jesus,” Patrick mutters. “That’s where the ego comes from, I’m guessing?”

“You know who he is,” Sharpy shrugs. “He’s never had to work this hard to get what he wants before. You infuriate and intrigue him in equal measure. Now… will you please take the damn suit?”

“Yeah… sure,” Patrick says absentmindedly, still thinking about what Sharpy has just told him. “Tell him… thanks, I guess?”

Sharpy rolls his eyes before getting back in the car and leaving Patrick standing on the sidewalk with a probably ridiculously expensive suit in his hands.

\--

The suit is gorgeous and fits him fairly well given Jonny doesn’t have his measurements—clearly, the man has a good eye and his attention to detail must be meticulous. The material is sinfully soft too and Patrick imagines Jonny spent a small fortune on it, on him. Patrick chews on his bottom lip as he contemplates his reflection in the mirror. He’s reminded of his former life, but… this feeling of anticipation and excitement is new. He’s looking forward to seeing Jonny, to sitting down with him and sharing a meal and getting to know him a little better. He’s nervous because he doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to disappoint Jonny. But he thinks he will mess it up at some point and disappoint him.

Jonny is… Jonny is all strength and courage and ambition and determination. He represents everything that Patrick has always admired in others and never found in himself. He thinks he’ll humour Jonny until he has to move on, but he knows Jonny deserves better than him. He deserves so much more than whatever Patrick can offer—because while it might seem like Jonny is looking to give everything of himself, there’s always a part of Patrick that will have to remain hidden, a part of him Jonny will never be able to know.

He suddenly feels guilty of his deceit. He shouldn’t be doing this; he should’ve walked away. But what is Patrick’s life if not a pile of regrets and mistakes? Can he not just enjoy the moment for what it is? Can he not just enjoy being wanted and admired by someone he wants and admires in return?

He sighs in resignation, he knows he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve Jonny. But he also knows he stopped being able to say no to him a long time ago. He’ll have to settle for making Jonny happy while it lasts, and then he’ll be gone, and Jonny will forget him and move onto someone more suitable.

\--

Patrick smiles shyly at Jonny when he walks out of the _Vanilla Bean_. He’s breathtakingly handsome, and not for the first time Patrick is thankful that he gets to have Jonny in his life, even if for just a short time.

His shy smile turns sly when he notices Jonny raking his eyes over him, dark with pleasure. He knows he looks good, but it’s nice to be so blatantly appreciated.

“Jonathon,” he greets, coming to a stop in front of him and looking up into those beautifully dark eyes, before pressing up to press a kiss just beneath the line of jaw as usual.

“Patrick,” Jonny replies in a low voice, making Patrick’s knees feel weak. He looks pleased at the attention he’s getting.

He turns, pressing a hand in the small of Patrick’s back to guide him to their waiting car.

“You look good,” Jonny comments as they pull away from the curb.

Patrick can feel his cheeks warm with a blush at the compliment. “So do you,” Patrick replies. He reaches out to put his hand over Jonny’s resting between them. “And thank you, for the suit,” Patrick adds. “It’s beautiful.”

Jonny turns his hand, palm up as he slides their fingers together and gives them a gentle squeeze. “You’re welcome.”

Patrick _feels_ shy (he really shouldn’t) and he’s not sure what to do with it at all. God he really doesn’t want to fuck this up.

The restaurant they pull up to is one that Patrick knows is very exclusive and consequently very expensive. He’s suddenly nervous because he was never allowed to go to these sorts of places back in Buffalo, was never allowed to be wined or dined or be part of the meetings that would require venues like this. He curls his fingers into the crook of Jonny’s elbow as they approach the entrance, sticking close and hoping he doesn’t draw any unnecessary attention or embarrass Jonny.

Jonny glances down at him questioningly, noticing Patrick chew on his bottom lip and press closer to him. “Are you _nervous_?” he asks incredulously.

Patrick shoots him an irritated look before taking in the restaurant as they wait for the maître de. “Yes,” he admits with a small pout.

Jonny is confused as he presses a thumb to Patrick’s lips, wiping the pout away. “Why? We’ve already slept together, Pat. Pretty sure the hard part is over.”

“It’s you,” Patrick shrugs, as if that answers his question at all. The hard part isn’t sex, the hard part is _intimacy_.

A throat clears, politely interrupting them. “If you would be so kind, sirs,” the maître de says, gesturing into the array tables half filled with patrons already, “I’ll escort you to your table for the evening.”

Patrick can feel the eyes of everyone in the restaurant on them as they’re led to a table discretely tucked away in a far corner of the room. He always gets a little anxious when there’s this much attention turned to him and he turns his face down and away, trying to ignore the curiosity that follows them.

Jonny orders wine as soon as they’re seated and waves off the waiter with a dismissive gesture that makes Patrick cringe inwardly. He’ll have to train Jonny to be nicer to people he thinks are beneath him.

They’re surrounded by an awkward silence and Patrick picks up the menu to distract himself because god, he is _totally fucking this up_. The menu makes it worse when he realises everything is in French and there are no prices listed which means even with his income, he probably couldn’t afford a place like this.

Patrick takes a gulp of the wine as soon as it’s set in front of him—liquid courage or social lubricant, he can’t go wrong either way he reasons.

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter enquires patiently.

Patrick panics and looks at Jonny for help but the moment their eyes meet he slips into French and orders for the both of them. Patrick suddenly relaxes because he’s used to this, used to Jonny being a controlling dick.

“You’re such a control freak,” Patrick teases him, a smile curling in the corners of his lips as soon as the waiter disappears.

“You like it,” Jonny replies confidently.

Patrick gives him a genuine smile because he is totally, 100% charmed by this man. “I never said I didn’t.”

After that, the conversation flows easily between them and Patrick forgets that they’re not alone.

\--

“I had a great time tonight,” Patrick comments as they’re waiting on the curb for Sharpy to pick them up.

Jonny has been looking very pleased with himself for most of the night, but the comment makes the asshole look smug. It’s strangely endearing that Jonny appears to want to pat himself on the back for a job well done.

“We’re not done yet,” Jonny replies, arm tightening around Patrick’s waist.

“Oh?” Patrick asks, acting coy. “You have something else planned?”

“Mmmm,” Jonny agrees, eyes flicking down to Patrick’s lips.

“I’m not the kinda girl that puts out on the first date, Jonny.”

“Really?” he asks, pressing his lips to Patrick’s ear as he whispers, “what sort of girl are you then?”

Patrick shivers when Jonny’s teeth tug gently on his earlobe, hands curling into the lapels of Jonny’s jacket. “The kind that can be convinced to change their mind.”

“ _God_ ,” Jonny groans into his neck, sounding wrecked. “You are so easy for me.”

“Yeah,” Patrick admits, tucking himself into the circle of Jonny’s arms. “I really am.”

Patrick startles at the sound of car horn—Sharpy trying to get their attention.

“Come home with me?” Jonny asks as he opens the door for them.

“Always,” Patrick replies, too honest.

\--

Ok so maybe Patrick hadn’t thought tonight would end up in the hotel suite. He’s maybe not wearing like dude appropriate underwear because it was more about making himself feel a little sexy (he never feels sexy… he knows he has great sex but being sexy is like totally different). The boy-cut shorts he has on are definitely not made for guys but the silky stretch of the fabric feels good against his skin and they make his ass look great… like bubble butt great… and he just _feels_ sexy in them so he just rolls with it.

Jonny is distracting, stroking Patrick’s knuckles with his thumb, unwilling to release his hand even though they’re in the back of a car and it’s not like Patrick can go anywhere, so there’s no reason for the touch. It’s almost like now that he knows he has permission; he’s just doing whatever he wants and isn’t holding back. He’s more tactile than Patrick would’ve given him credit for, he’s been constantly touching Patrick all night—a hand swiping down his spine, a hand in the small of his back, fingers brushing the back of Pat’s hand as they walk or the touch of his thumb dragging across the inside of Patrick’s wrist. It’s heady and intoxicating and not for the first time, Patrick wonders if this is something he deserves, if this is something he should allow himself to have.

They’re quiet on the drive to the hotel and Jonny doesn’t say a word as he pushes Patrick along gently through the lobby, dismissing one of his approaching minions with a casual flick of his fingers. The show of power is, admittedly, kind of a turn on. It makes Patrick feel powerful himself, that he’s able to see a side of Jonny that no one else has… or well, very few people have, he suspects.

Patrick is so used to the sex being fast and rough that he’s both surprised and uncertain when Jonny slows things right down when they’re alone in the suite. When Patrick tries to pull him into a kiss as soon as the door closes, Jonny only brushes his lips chastely before pulling back, smirking at Patrick’s involuntary whine.

Patrick tries to chase his mouth again, getting annoyed that Jonny doesn’t seem to be in a hurry because Patrick is. He wants to feel Jonny all around him, in him. He wants to lose himself in this for the night, wants to forget who he is. It’s a desperation he hasn’t felt before and he dimly thinks he should be worried about that, worried about the fact that Jonny is bringing about a lot of firsts for him. He’s the first person that’s made him feel safe, feel wanted, feel desired, feel respected… it’s a dangerous cocktail of emotions because feeling like this is addictive and Patrick is afraid he’ll never be able to let go of Jonny, that he’d sacrifice this small life he’s built for himself to keep Jonny happy.

Jonny eventually licks into his mouth when they’ve made their way to the bedroom and Patrick mewls with pleasure, because fucking _finally_. He tries to deepen the kiss, sucking on Jonny’s tongue as he wraps his arms around Jonny’s broad shoulders. But his plans are quashed when Jonny wraps a hand around his neck, thumb pressing up beneath his chin to guide Patrick to where he wants him to be and slow down their kiss. He’s never been a patient man, but as he loses himself in the feel of Jonny’s mouth against his, he can concede that patience maybe has some merit and also he can totally be onboard with make-out sessions with the man in front of him.

Patrick knows he’s flushed, a blush high on his cheeks, and his eyes glassy with desire. His lips feel fuller, plump and spit slick from Jonny’s attention. He gives a low moan when he looks down at Patrick.

Patrick is so distracted by Jonny’s kisses that he barely registers when Jonny begins to undress him. He tries to return the favour with clumsy fingers, sighing and tilting his head back to give Jonny better access to his neck. He bites his bottom lip hard to keep from moaning as Jonny sucks a kiss onto the hinge of his jaw.

Jonny is barely undressed by the time Patrick is kicking his ankles free of his pants. Jonny is still attached to his neck, but he pauses in confusion when he runs hands over Pat’s hips. He pulls back and looks down and punches out a breathy “ _fuck_ ”. Patrick suddenly feels self-conscious and is very aware that he’s uncertain about whether Jonny would think he’s a freak for wearing lingerie.

He steps back, just staring and Patrick crosses his arms across his chest defensively, the blush he knows he has darkening in embarrassment.

“Turn for me, baby,” Jonny orders, voice low, gesturing a circle with a finger before pulling his shirt off and pushing his own pants off. Patrick feels cheated—he wanted to undress Jonny. “Slowly,” he says, snapping Patrick out of his reverie.

He does as instructed, spinning slowly for Jonny and biting his bottom lip in nervousness.

By the time he comes full circle, Jonny is naked and stroking his hard cock, eyes all over Patrick. He moves in closer to Patrick, pressing his thumb into the plush centre of Patrick’s bottom lip until Patrick sucks it into his mouth instead.

“How the fuck are you real?” Jonny asks him, a touch of awe in his tone as he moves to cup Pat’s face in his hands, running his thumbs along the line of his cheekbones.

Patrick lets his eyes slip closed as Jonny presses a soft kiss to his lips again, a breathy gasp escaping him when Jonny moves to press soft kisses on his eyelids, then the tip of his nose, then the corners of his mouth before returning his attention to Pat’s mouth. They stay like that for what feels like a lifetime before Jonny’s hands cup his ass, lifting him and pressing Pat up against him.

Patrick’s response is immediate, arms wrapping around Jonny’s shoulders and his legs going around Jonny’s waist, ankles hooking behind his back. For the first time Patrick is the one looking down into Jonny’s dark eyes and he’s never been so turned on by a display of strength in his life.

“Jon,” Patrick whispers against his lips like a prayer. “Take me to bed.”

Jonny walks them to the bed, gently pressing Patrick back against the cool sheets. He’s spread out wantonly beneath Jonny and his hands curl into Jonny’s dark hair as he kisses his way down Patrick’s neck. He starts sucking kisses along Patrick’s shoulders before shifting down slowly… so slowly. He arches into Jonny’s mouth when he sucks a nipple into his skilled mouth, pulling back to blow over the sensitive flesh.

Patrick allows himself to be lost in the feel of Jonny’s mouth and hands running over what feels like every inch of him. Patrick tries to explore Jonny’s body as well, wanting to learn the feel of Jonny beneath his hands and mouth, but it’s hard when Jonny keeps distracting him.

He lets out a noise of protest when Jonny manhandles him onto his stomach because it means he can’t reach Jonny anymore which just isn’t fair. Jonny ignores him, biting the meat of an ass cheek in reprimand which has Patrick making a noise he should probably be embarrassed by.

Jonny’s hands on his hips pull him up so he’s on his knees, face and chest pressed into the sheets. He taps the inside of Patrick’s thighs and he obediently spreads them open further, presenting himself to Jonny.

Jonny slides a finger under the seam of his underwear, letting it snap back against Patrick’s skin.

“You’re so fucking sexy, Pat,” Jonny says, voice sounding wrecked as his hands cup the globes of Patrick’s ass. He squeezes them, kneading them in his hands before letting go and running them down along the back of Patrick’s thighs as he presses wet kisses along waist band of his underwear.

Patrick doesn’t realise they’ve been pushed down, sitting tight in the crease where his ass meets his thighs, until Jonny has his cheeks spread and swipes his tongue over Patrick’s hole. He literally fucking mewls when Jonny follows up by blowing over the wet stripe, thumb circling his rim playfully.

“You’re gorgeous, babe. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

And Patrick wants to let out a sob because fuck, he wants Jonny to wreck him. Ruin him for anyone else so that Patrick will forever be branded. He wants to be possessed by Jonny, owned in a way that no one has ever owned him before.

His hands grip the sheets tight and his toes curl when Jonny sucks a wet kiss over his hole, tongue circling his rim messily. He thinks he could come from Jonny’s tongue alone when he feels him licking into Patrick. The sounds are obscene, and Patrick feels like he’s having an out of body experience because it’s like his lost control of his body—he moves instinctually, pressing back onto Jonny’s tongue as it fucks into him. He’s being loud too, might feel sorry for whoever is stuck in the room next to theirs, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Fuck me,” Patrick manages to demand eventually, trying not to come at the feel of Jonny’s fingers and tongue stretching him open. “Please,” he begs, “I want to come on your cock, _please_.”

Jonny concedes, slurping a final wet kiss over Pat’s hole that his him moaning. Patrick whines as he feels Jonny push into him slowly—he’s so desperate for release and he tries to press back onto Jonny, but he’s stopped by fingers digging into his hips. It’s definitely going to leave bruises, but Patrick wants them, wants the reminder of this in the coming days, wants to be able to press his fingers against them as he fucks into his own hand.

Jonny takes everything so fucking slowly, dragging his cock over Patrick’s prostate with patience that he’d usually be impressed by but just annoys him now. No matter how much Patrick begs, Jonny never picks up the pace, keeps his thrusts shallow and slow.

Patrick is crying by the time Jonny lets him come.

\--

Patrick is curled against Jonny’s side, head resting on his shoulder, when he wakes the next morning. A strong arm is wrapped loosely around his shoulders, keeping him pressed close to Jonny. They forgot to close the curtains, so the sun is streaming in, bright and warm. Patrick shifts so he’s got a better angle with which he can take his time and look his fill. The sheet is draped low over their hips, revealing acres of sun-kissed skin that Patrick didn’t get to explore very much of last night. Patrick tries to commit this image to memory. He wants to be able to remember this quiet moment for the rest of his life. The clock is ticking down to when he has to leave Chicago, and he’s started to feel conflicted about that fact. He shakes the thoughts from his mind, not wanting to be distracted by his worries when he has Jonny laid bare before him.

Patrick traces the planes of Jonny’s chest and abs with his fingers, touch feather-light. He startles when his hand is suddenly caught in Jonny’s. He looks up and his gaze is caught in Jonny’s half-lidded stare as he presses a kiss to Jonny’s warm skin. He moves, lying half on top of Jonny before smiling impishly letting out a quiet “hi.”

Jonny grunts in reply, blinking sleepily, his eyes never leaving Patrick’s as he brushes his fingers up Patrick’s spine to the nape of his neck. With a pang he realises he wants more of this—more of waking up next to this incredible man. He preens under his attention, wants to be the sole focus of his attention. He breaks eye contact, pressing his cheek to Jonny’s warm chest. He is so screwed because he thinks he may be falling in love with this asshole.


	10. Chapter 10

Patrick isn’t foreign to the understanding that, sometimes, Jonny needs to get involved in the dirtier side of the business, the side that Patrick was too soft to deal with. It makes Patrick realise that Jonny belongs to a different world, one he’d hoped to never be involved with again. But… that world seems so much more bearable with Jonny beside him.

It’s not often Jonny will leave the suite and request him to stay, but he guesses the shift in their relationship means that Jonny wants him around more. He finds it hard to reconcile the new normal against what they used to have—Patrick isn’t used to someone wanting him around after his task is completed. So, Patrick obliges when Jonny presses a kiss to his temple and tells him that he’ll be back in a few hours and to go back to sleep.

He wakes up when he hears the door. He tenses up immediately and has a moment of regret that he doesn’t carry a loaded weapon. He’s sitting up, hands gripped tight in the sheets, when Jonny makes his way into the room. His hands relax as soon as he sees him—he’s coiled tight and getting more paranoid these days, because he should’ve left Chicago by now. He knows that the longer he stays here, the higher the risk that he’ll be caught out by someone.

Jonny pauses at the threshold when he notices Patrick is awake and alert. It’s a few tense moments of silence before Jonny moves towards the bathroom, flicking the light on and leaving the door wide open. Patrick takes that as an invitation, so he slips quietly from the bed and follows him, stopping short when he sees Jonny in the light. So, Patrick realises as he takes in the blood, less of an invitation and more of a test. Jonny is trying to show Patrick a side to him he’s never seen before, an introduction to the messier side of things that he thinks Patrick knows little of.

Patrick falls a little more in love with him when he realises this is Jonny trying to give him a choice, to stay despite what’s in front of him, or to leave and never look back. The whole point of leaving Buffalo and an unwanted marriage behind had been to escape this world but standing here and watching Jonny as he watches Patrick… he realises with a sudden certainty that this isn’t something he can walk away from.

Jonny’s eyes are dark and serious, watching as Patrick approach with a confident tilt of his chin. He circles Patrick’s wrists with fingers that are tacky with dried blood when Patrick’s hands move to touch him.

“Let me,” Patrick says, voice soft and low in the quiet. “Please.” He might not be able to dole out the punishments like Jonny can, but he can help Jonny in this small way. He can show his support and look after him, maybe go a small way in earning Jonny in return.

Jonny hesitates for a moment but drops his hands, frowning as he sees a few streaks of blood left on Pat’s wrists. He doesn’t want to dirty Patrick.

They don’t speak as Patrick slides his hands up Jonny’s chest, slipping them beneath his jacket and pushing it from Jonny’s shoulders until it lands at their feet. Jonny marvels at Patrick silently—of all the reactions he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this quiet intimacy and acceptance, Patrick uncaring of dirtying his own hands while caring for Jonny.

He watches Patrick’s careful hands as they move to his belt, slipping the button of his pants open and drawing the fly down slowly. He watches as Patrick slowly lowers himself to his knees in front of Jonny, slipping his shoes and socks from his feet. He watches as Patrick’s hands come back up to squeeze his hips, pulling his pants and underwear down, hands tracing the line of his thighs and calves. He watches as Patrick rises once more and takes each of his wrists in turn in his delicate and capable hands, undoing the cufflinks. He’s hypnotised as Patrick slowly undoes each button of his shirt, hands warm on his skin as Patrick pushes the shirt from his shoulders and down his arms.

His eyes follow Patrick as he turns away to put the shower on, waiting for the water to warm before turning back to Jonny. He follows when Patrick nudges him into the shower, stepping under the hot water with a sigh. Patrick shoves everything except the cufflinks into a plastic bag he digs out from a cabinet, takes care to wipe any blood on the tiles away with a towel before adding it to the bag of Jonny’s clothes.

Jonny is quietly pleased when Patrick steps into the shower with him, pulling him underneath the spray and dipping is head to press a kiss to Patrick’s shoulder. He’s not sure what he means by it, whether he wants to thank Patrick or reward him.

Patrick pulls away though, because before they start anything, they both need to be clean. Patrick will draw a hard line here; he’s not doing anything with Jonny when he’s covered in someone else’s blood. Jonny watches him through half-lidded eyes as Patrick washes his hair for him, runs his hands through his hair gently, as if feeling for injuries, before his head is titled back into the spray.

Patrick is still careful as he washes Jonny, meticulous as he cleans the blood from his skin. He’s not sure how much of the blood is someone else’s or if Jonny is hurt as well. Jonny’s cock especially likes the attention when Patrick drops to his knees again, but he ignores it until he’s cleaned every inch of him. Only then does Patrick lean in and press his face against the soft skin of Jonny’s hip. Jonny’s hand immediately winds its way into Patrick’s wet curls, watching at Patrick nuzzles the base of his cock before pulling back and sucking the head of it into his plush mouth.

Patrick doesn’t use his hands, conscious of the fact that he hasn’t checked to see if the blood is off him too, but he’s too impatient to feel the weight of Jonny’s dick on his tongue. Jonny doesn’t seem to mind all that much about the wet and sloppy blow job. It’s not long before he pulls Patrick off his dick and out from beneath the spray of the shower, using his free hand to finish the job and hold his head in place as he shoots thick stripes of come over Patrick’s face. Patrick closes his eyes obediently, mouth open and tongue out so he can taste Jonny like wants to.

Jonny cleans his face, hands gentle as he wipes the come from his eyelashes, before he pulls Patrick up and returns the favour, washing him and taking care with Patrick’s hands before he turns him so his back is pressed to Jonny’s chest. He hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, protecting him from the worst of the spray as he wraps a hand around Patrick’s dick and jerks him off. Patrick comes with a sigh that’s swallowed by Jonny’s mouth.

\--

“My job won’t change, Patrick,” Jonny says the next morning. “I need you to understand that.”

It’s been quiet this morning, as if last light had somehow spilled into the harsh light of day. Patrick is at war with himself—not about Jonny’s job, but whether he can be enough for Jonny.

“I know,” Patrick replies, sitting up to pull his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around them and his back to Jonny. It wouldn’t do to allow Jonny to think there was something wrong with him… the problems lie with Patrick, per the norm.

Jonny’s warm hand at the small of his back is the only response he thinks he’ll get, but Jonny surprises him.

“If you try to make me choose… it won’t be you,” Jonny presses.

He understands what Jonny is trying to do, because he thinks Patrick’s upset by the job, but it still hurts to hear that he’ll always play second-fiddle, that his parents had been right, that Enda had been right… that Patrick alone would never be good enough, that he was just a warm body that could be disposed of easily. He has a bone-deep understanding that love is never part of the deal, familial or otherwise. Jonny may grow to care a great deal about him, but love is dangerous because it can conflict with loyalty to the family. He can’t be loved the way he wants to be if he stays with Jonny, would never hear the words. He also has to consider that because family comes first for Jonny… he can’t be the only one because he can’t guarantee an heir.

He’s not sure if he’s strong enough to love and not be enough to be loved in return, but he’ll try to be that strong for Jonny in the meantime.

“I’ve never asked you to change, would never ask you to change.”

“ _Why_?” Jonny asks him, quiet as he sits up to wrap himself around Patrick.

Patrick’s smile is pure sadness and resignation when he replies, and Jonny fucking feels the pain of it deep in his stomach. “Because you’re enough,” Patrick says, too honest as usual. “The rest doesn’t matter so much. I’m here for you, Jon. I’m not here for anything else, just you.”

Jonny presses his cheek into the palm of Patrick’s hand as soon as it comes up. He looks so heartbroken and Jonny has no idea why or how to fix it so he doesn’t protest when Patrick presses a sweet kiss to his lips before pulling away from him, getting dressed and walking out with nothing more than “I have class in a few hours” as an explanation.

Jonny has his schedule memorised, so he knows it’s a lie, but he lets him go anyway.

\--

Patrick avoids Jonny in the following days, not taking his calls or replying to his texts. He knows he’s being a dick, but he just needs time to gather the pieces of himself that Jonny inadvertently broke that morning.

He spends a stupid amount of time crying and he’s exhausted by it, enough so that he skips classes the next day and calls in sick to work. Tyler doesn’t ask any questions, just turns up on his doorstep with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand and a bottle of cheap vodka in the other. Patrick takes the ice cream and they spend the rest of the night marathoning the Twilight movies.

\--

Patrick knows he looks like shit when he walks out the _Vanilla Bean_ nervously. Jonny is (totally unexpectedly) waiting for him, a bouquet of what must be more than a dozen red roses in one hand.

Patrick smiles, a small thing, when the roses are thrust at him as soon as Jonny spots him.

“Sharpy says I should apologise,” Jonny says, tone confused. “But I don’t know why? I’m not sure what I did, Pat, but I _am_ sorry. The flowers are supposed to sweeten the deal. Although I’m not sure how.”

Patrick laughs at the explanation, but he takes the roses from Jonny and smells them before replying dutifully, “they’re beautiful Jonny, thank you.”

Patrick can’t believe it’s only been a few days, but he’d missed Jonny and his stupidly handsome face and inability to understand romance. Although Patrick notes he’s learning, the flowers really are beautiful and Patrick likes them, likes that Jonny put enough thought and care into the unnecessary apology that he’s standing here before Patrick completely unsure.

“I’m sorry too,” Patrick replies, looking at Jonny and noting how some of the tension bleeds out from his shoulders at hearing that. “I shouldn’t have dropped off the radar like that. I just had some stuff to deal with.”

“What stuff?” he asks immediately, accepting Patrick’s kiss and curling his fingers around Patrick’s free hand. Patrick has his stupid cap on, backwards, so he can’t run his fingers through his curls like he wants to.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Patrick reassures him.

Jonny wants to disagree, Patrick is Jonny’s and, by definition, that means Patrick’s problems are his too. But he feels like he’s in enough trouble as it is, so he decides not to say anything… for now.

“Take me home?” asks Patrick sweetly.

Jonny can’t deny him anything when he’s smiling up at him with his big blue eyes. “Yeah, babe,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to Pat’s temple. “Have you eaten yet?” he asks, attentive as ever when he opens the car door for Patrick.

“No,” Pat shakes his head. “Let’s pick up something on the way. I know you hate the room service menu.”


	11. Chapter 11

After being introduced the less pleasant side of Jonny’s job, Patrick finds his presence requested more often. As if now that Jonny knows he can handle his job, he trusts Patrick to keep his mouth shut. For example, Jonny always speaks in French if Patrick is around when he has to deal with business, but he _does_ pick up the phone, which is new because Jonny doesn’t know whether Patrick understands him or not.

Patrick quietly admits to him that he likes it when Jonny speaks French and their sex that night is peppered with Jonny’s French, whispered against Patrick’s skin as they’re entwined around each other. Patrick feels as though he’s being worshipped, Jonny’s big hands touching him as much as possible, tracing the contours of his body. It’s a heady feeling and one Patrick wants more of because, he’s come to the dull realisation, that he’s not just falling in love with Jonny… he loves him.

\--

Jonny had called earlier, requesting that Patrick join him for the evening. The formality of the request makes Patrick smile, he finds Jonny’s efforts at dating him sweet at times. Patrick is tired though; it’s been a long week of school and assignments that need to done last minute after some of the people in his group had decided not to pull their weight. His shifts have been pretty shitty too (rude customers are the _worst_ ) and he lost some money after his website was hacked (not much, but enough to annoy him).

“Can we have a quiet night in?” Patrick asks, unsure.

"Sure, babe. Whatever you want,” Jonny agrees without question. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Thai? I can pick it up on the way there,” Patrick offers.

“Thai is good,” Jonny agrees. “Sharpy will pick you up in an hour.”

Patrick rolls his eyes, because Jonny refuses to let him walk around unescorted when he can get away with it. “See you soon.”

\--

He’s in sweats and a hoodie that’s too big for him when Sharpy picks him up.

Sharpy snorts when he sees him. “Dressing for a special occasion I see.”

“Fuck off,” Patrick smiles in greeting. “Take me to get Thai food.”

“Jonny ordered ahead,” Sharpy informs him. “You just need to pick it up. I’ll leave the car running.”

Patrick nods, tucking his hands into the too-long sleeves. He hops out the car as soon as it rolls to a stop, smiling at the owner of the small Thai restaurant in greeting and stopping to talk when she asks where his ‘ball and chain’ is. Patrick laughs in surprise but replies with a cheeky wink and the explanation that he’s waiting for Patrick at home.

Sharpy refuses to let him carry the bag of takeout when they get to the hotel and they start talking about the stats of some of the newer players the Blackhawks have picked up. Jonny is waiting for him though, and everything else melts away as soon as sees him.

He’s on the phone and he doesn’t sound happy about something when he sees Patrick. He looks tired too, dark smudges under his eyes but he smiles at Patrick.

Patrick smiles in return as he approaches, pressing a kiss just underneath the line of Jonny’s jaw per usual. He wraps his arms around Jonny and pushes his face into the crook of his neck, pleased when Jonny’s free arm wraps around him loosely before he can pull away.

When Jonny hangs up, Patrick’s hands are either side of Jonny’s face, pulling him down into a proper kiss, his tongue curling around Jonny’s. He knows they’re both tired though, so he doesn’t start anything, instead opting to pull away after a few more light kisses, fingers curling into the soft hair at Jonny’s nape.

“Hi.”

Jonny snorts and shakes his head, dropping a kiss to Pat’s curls before pulling back and pushing him towards the coffee table where their food is waiting.

They don’t talk about the things that are making them lose sleep, instead falling into lighter topics as they eat. Patrick turns on a movie after they finish eating and clearing up the containers, pushing Jonny around until he can comfortably curl up against him, his arm around Pat’s shoulders.

\--

He grumbles grumpily when Jonny’s phone wakes him a few short hours later. He’s warm and comfortable and he doesn’t want Jonny to leave, but Jonny starts shifting underneath him which means they have to get up and move off the couch.

Jonny sighs after he hangs up, running a hand through Patrick’s curls to wake him. Patrick just burrows in deeper, unwilling to let him go because tonight was date night damnit.

“Come on, babe,” Jonny says, quiet, like he’s just as reluctant as Patrick is to get up and face reality.

“S’date night, Jonny,” Patrick replies sleepily, grumpy.

“Mmm,” Jonny agrees, combing his fingers through Pat’s curls again. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Can’t bribe me, Jonny,” he pouts.

“Oh? Challenge accepted.”

Patrick shifts, lifting his head so he can look at Jonny. His expression is fond, as if Patrick means something to him. It hurts a little to know he doesn’t, well—he doesn’t mean to Jonny, what Jonny means to him at any rate.

“Be safe, ok,” Patrick says, suddenly serious. He shakes it off though, carefully getting off Jonny to avoid injuring the part of Jonny he wants to enjoy later.

Jonny is up immediately, heading into the bedroom to change into a suit that isn’t wrinkled from napping a couple hours of the couch. He stops in front of Patrick before he leaves, pressing a quick kiss to his lips in apology.

“Go to bed,” Jonny instructs, thumb brushing the soft skin under Pat’s eyes. “I won’t be long.”

\--

Jonny is gone a long time, is the thing. Patrick is usually alone for two or three hours before Jonny comes back but it’s been longer. Definitely long enough for Patrick to sit up in bed from worry. He sighs, he’s not getting any sleep until Jonny gets back so he turns on the lamp beside the bed and grabs his phone, replying to Segs’ messages and checking his e-mail. He doesn’t have his charger on him, so he puts his phone away (because once he starts playing Candy Crush, he has no self-control), turning the TV on and turning the volume down low. There’s nothing on the news that should have him worried, so he relaxes back into the pillows and flicks through the channels until he finds an old hockey game to watch.

He’s close to nodding off when he hears the door slam open. Jonny is never that loud so Patrick scrambles to at least pull his pants on before he’s accosted by whoever the hell has just come in.

“Yo, Peeks!” Sharpy yells. “Care to help with his highness here?”

Patrick rushes out the bedroom, because “Jesus fucking Christ, Sharpy! Aren’t you supposed to make sure he doesn’t get hurt!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sharpy grunts, shifting his weight.

Jonny is out of it, slumped against Sharpy’s side with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and Sharpy’s arm wrapped around waist, head hanging forward limply as if it’s too much weight for Jonny to carry.

Patrick lifts Jonny’s other arm around his own shoulders and helps Sharpy move him to the bedroom, letting him fall back on mattress. He’s fucking heavy.

“What the hell happened?” hisses Patrick, stabbing Sharpy with an accusatory finger.

“Ow!”

“What happened?” Patrick repeats when Sharpy isn’t quick enough to answer.

“There was a fight… with knives. Which… who fights with a knife anymore? Not cool.”

“Oh my god, please tell me Jonny was _not_ stabbed,” Patrick says, running his hands over his face and into his hair. He’s starting to panic. “My first aid skills are definitely not good enough to stitch him up, asshole!”

“Hey, hey,” Sharpy says, taking Pat’s shoulders and shaking him softly until he’s looking back at Sharpy again. “Doc already stitched him up good, ok? He just wanted to come back to see your pretty face.”

“He’s ok, then?”

“Just fine Peeks, it wasn’t deep. He’ll be grumpy as hell when he wakes up and he’ll be sore, but he’s fine. Just another scar to add to the collection. Now, Saad is going to bring by some painkillers and a first aid kit, so you’ll have everything you need. If you need anything else, anything at all, Shaw and Saad will both be in the corridor so let them know ok?”

“Ok,” Patrick softly agrees.

He turns away, fully expecting that Sharpy will leave, but he just moves to the lounge instead, giving Pat a moment.

He cards fingers gently through Jonny’s hair before pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. It takes some manoeuvring but Patrick manages to get Jonny under the covers and sans his clothes (ok so he had help from Sharpy because his upper body strength can’t deal with Jonny’s dead weight) before he hears a soft knock on the door.

Sharpy leaves the first aid kit in the bathroom and puts Jonny’s painkillers on the bedside table before slipping out of the room quietly.

When he’s gone Patrick pulls back the covers and bites his lips in worry. The dressing is stark white against his tan skin and he has some colourful bruises that are starting to appear. He pokes his head out the door, looking for Saad and Shaw. They both stand to attention immediately, as if Patrick has some kind of authority over them. He probably does, he realises, it’s not every day they trust an outsider to look after their leader.

“Get me some ice. Icepacks if you can, but otherwise a few towels and a bucket of ice will suffice,” he instructs.

Ten minutes later there’s a knock on the door and Saad has a bucket of ice and towels and a few icepacks. Overachiever, Pat thinks fondly as he nods his thanks.

Jonny grumbles but doesn’t wake when he balances the icepacks as well as he can. He crawls into bed after checking the door is locked and turning off the TV and all the lights. He doesn’t like Jonny being hurt, doesn’t even like the thought of it. He knows they’ve fought before, but never with the intent to leave this level of damage, to cause pain. It worries him that Jonny can be vulnerable in this way.

He presses a kiss to Jonny’s palm and laces their fingers together, afraid to curl up against him like he usually does in case he makes him hurt worse.

\--

Patrick had not slept well. He’d woken up intermittently to check on Jonny, to make sure he was ok and to get rid of the lukewarm icepacks.

When the dawn starts to lighten the sky, Patrick stands to close the curtains and resigns himself to getting up. He checks Jonny, making sure the dressing still looks clean and that he’s warm enough. Carefully, he pulls the sheets back over Jonny, tucking them around his shoulders before pressing a kiss to his hair. The bruises look the worst, a motley crew of blues and purples marring his usual tanned skin.

God—what a mess his head and heart are. Logically he knows he needs to go, knows that not being honest with Jonny is a betrayal of his trust in him (no matter how little that trust is) and that pursuing this further is dangerous for Jonny, for the both of them. But his heart… his heart is telling him that Jonny is it for him, that this infuriating, beautiful man owns him in a way no one else ever will. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to let go of Jonny like he knows he needs to.

He shakes head, trying to shake the melancholy from his mind. Now is not the time to worry about the future. He goes into the lounge area, picking up the phone to place an order for breakfast and coffee (so much coffee). Jonny should be awake soon and he needs to eat something before he can take anything for the pain.

Jonny wakes up as soon as he smells the coffee, dishevelled and cranky. Patrick takes it all in stride, helping Jonny sit up and stuffing pillows behind his back quickly so he can relax back. He doesn’t speak, just watches Patrick as he pushes the breakfast cart in and makes Jonny’s coffee for him. He reaches out to take the bottle of painkillers, but Patrick sharply flicks his hand and Jonny scowls at him.

“Not until you eat something,” Patrick says, quiet and commanding.

“You can’t order me around,” Jonny replies petulantly, voice raspy.

“Yeah?” Patrick asks, amused. “What are you going to do about it, huh?”

Jonny pouts, his mind not awake enough to formulate an intelligent response, so he stays quiet instead.

“Jon,” Patrick says, equally amused and exasperated. He slides a warm palm along the side of Jonny’s face, getting his attention again. “Just let me look after you this one time, ok?”

Jonny considers him sleepily for a moment before curling his fingers around Patrick’s wrist and pressing a kiss to the centre of his palm.

He grunts in thanks when Patrick passes him his coffee. They’re quiet again, the morning enveloped in a silence Jonny isn’t sure he wants to break. He knows he worried Patrick, can see the concern in his eyes and the dark smudges beneath them that meant he hasn’t slept. He should probably apologise, but this is just part of the job—it isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and it certainly won’t be the last. Still, he admits to himself, warm and sleepy again, it’s nice to have someone to fuss over him like this. He’s greedy, he realises, wants all of Patrick’s attention on him always.

“I can’t believe you got stabbed,” Patrick mutters, handing him a bowl of porridge. “Eat as much as you can, then you can have the painkillers and go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t stabbed,” Jonny tries to reassure, “it was just some idiot with a knife that got too close. It grazed me, needed a few stiches, that’s all.”

“As if that’s any better,” Patrick replies, rolling his eyes.

They eat in silence and Jonny obediently takes his painkillers when they’re handed to him. He could get used to this, he thinks, this whole having Patrick look after him thing.

He’s so careful with Jonny, touch gentle and voice firm, like he’s done this before. He looks indecisive once Jonny is settled again and the room service cart has been wheeled out. They don’t usually spend so much time together in the morning—Patrick either has study or work, or Jonny has some stupid brunch meeting or other business that needs his attention.

“Stay,” Jonny orders him.

For a moment he’s worried Patrick is going to say no, but he nods as he chews his bottom lip, more confident now that Jonny has confirmed that he wants him here.

“Yeah,” he follows-up, walking to his side of the bed. “Do you need anything else before I get back in? Or do you just need to sleep?”

“Mmmm,” Jonny replies unhelpfully.

Patrick huffs out a low laugh at Jonny and he watches, eyes half-lidded as Patrick crawls under the covers with him.

Jonny frowns at Patrick’s distance, because this is not how things usually are, Patrick’s warm body fitted against his like he was born for Jonny. He lets out a hiss of breath as he moves himself, slumping over Patrick instead, because if Pat won’t come to him, he’ll happily go to Patrick.

“Happy now?” Patricks asks and Jonny can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yep,” Jonny confirms.

He falls asleep to Patrick’s fingers combing through his hair.

\--

Jonny is stiff and sore when he wakes up next. Patrick is still underneath him, arms curled around him as if he’s afraid Jonny will disappear.

It’s not often Jonny allows himself to really _look_ at Patrick, so he drinks his fill despite his own discomfort. Patrick is… so many things. He’s guarded too, never looks as soft and inviting as he does when he’s asleep. He looks a lot younger like this, Jonny thinks. There’s a heaviness to him sometimes that confuses Jonny, like the world has taught him lessons he shouldn’t have to learn. He’s good at hiding it though, good at distracting people so they don’t look beyond what he wants them to. But Jonny wants to know, he wants to know everything there is to know about Patrick, wants to experience everything Patrick is and isn’t. His perfection lies in his flaws, and he fits Jonny like a puzzle piece.

He also has the benefit of being the most gorgeous human being Jonny’s laid eyes on. Jonny likes pretty things, likes to own them, and by extension he wants to own Patrick because he’s the prettiest of all. But Patrick can’t be owned—has made that abundantly clear on numerous occasions that Jonny should probably be more embarrassed by. However, he can be earned. For now, he hopes that what they have will be enough to keep him bound to Jonny, but sometimes he can’t be sure.

Patrick doesn’t like cages, and the kind of life he’d have as Jonny’s partner (more like mistress because his mother will kill him if he doesn’t have children) can be viewed as a sort of cage. It’s enough to make Jonny doubt that he’s enough to keep Patrick, and it’s the main reason why Jonny has kept up with the dates his mother sets up occasionally. Patrick always seems to be straddling the threshold, one foot planted out the door as if he’s planning to run. The only problem is that Jonny doesn’t know what he’s running from.

“Stop staring at me like a creeper,” Patrick interrupts his thoughts, voice rough with sleep.

“I need more painkillers,” says Jonny.

“So, you thought you’d just stare at me until I woke up?”

Jonny blinks owlishly at him and Patrick groans and pushes his face lightly, turning Jonny’s gaze elsewhere.

“Get off me you freak,” Patrick mumbles.

Jonny complies, rolling off him and onto his back. He watches Patrick get up and goes into the bathroom. He hears the splash of water in the bath and Patrick comes back to Jonny, helping him sit up and then handing him a glass of water and the bottle of pills.

“I’m pouring a bath for you,” he informs Jonny, “should held help with the pain. We just need to waterproof that dressing of your yours.”

“Join me.”

Patrick chuckles and shakes his head. “You just want all of my attention today, don’t you?”

Jonny shrugs unashamedly, finishing the glass of water.

“Yeah, ok,” Patrick agrees. “Gotta make sure you don’t drown yourself I guess.”

He’s a little slow to move but he manages to get to his feet by himself, ignoring the pull of the stitches in his side. Patrick gets in first, pulling Jonny against his chest as they lie back. Jonny sighs in contentment, letting Patrick take his weight when he leans back into the hot water.

Patrick is attentive and careful as he washes Jonny, his touch comforting, and Jonny finds himself dozing again, head slumped back onto Patrick’s shoulder. He wishes he could return the favour, remembers the last time Patrick did this, when he had dropped to his knees for him in the shower a few weeks ago, but his limbs feel heavy and his mind clouded.

Patrick is speaking to him, voice low and soothing. He’s not sure what he’s saying, but Jonny follows Patrick’s hands as he’s pulled out of the bath, stands still as Patrick dries him, moves when he feels the push of Patrick’s hand in the small of his back.

When he wakes up a few hours later, Patrick is gone, a note left in his stead instructing Jonny to eat before he takes anymore of his painkillers. It makes Jonny smile.

\--

Patrick is minding his own business, humming along to the radio as he makes use of the quiet to get some study in. He only has two more hours before closing and he’s cleaned as much as he could, not expecting many people to wonder in in the last few hours of his shift.

He startles when he hears the bell over the door and looks up to see Sharpy coming in, a very amused expression on his face.

“Peekaboo,” he greets. “The usual, please.”

“Hey Sharpy,” he smiles, shifting away from his textbooks and starting on the order. “What brings you in tonight? I wasn’t expecting… I mean Jonny didn’t message or call, so…?”

“I come bearing gifts,” he replies, cheeky smile in place as he lifts a giftbag into Patrick’s line of sight.

“Ok? Why?”

“An apology for making you worry and a thank you for looking after him last weekend,” Sharpy replies, pushing the bag across the counter to Patrick.

Patrick frowns, he’s not sure he likes being rewarded for just doing the right thing.

“Come on Peeks, I’m _dying_ to see what he got you.”

“You don’t know?” Patrick asks, incredulous. What that means is that Jonny went out and got this himself.

“Nope,” Sharpy replies gleefully. “Open it!”

Patrick pulls a flat, square box out of the bag before undoing the bright red ribbon. He carefully lifts the lid to reveal a black velvet box inside. He considers the black velvet box for a moment, eyes flicking up to look at Sharpy who is still hovering.

Patrick’s eyes widen comically as he opens it. Nestled in soft satin is a choker, sparkling in the soft light of the café. It’s thick, would probably cover half the length of his neck, and the diamonds run around the full length of it to a delicate clasp in the back. It’s the kind of gift he hadn’t known he wanted until then.

Sharpy leans over the counter and whistles in appreciation as he catches sight of it. “Jesus, Peeks.”

“Is this real?”

The look Sharpy shoots him is a clear statement: ‘ _do you honestly think Jonathon Toews would buy you fake diamonds?_ ’

“Yeah, ok, stupid question,” Patrick blurts out, lost for a moment because what does a gift like this _mean_? “Holy shit. This is beautiful.”

He doesn’t even question why Jonny would be buying him jewellery. He vaguely remembers telling Jonny he likes sparkly things and he definitely remembers Jonny’s reaction that one time he wore those panties.

“Why? Why would he spend this kind of me on me? I can’t accept this,” Patrick says, snapping the lid shut and pushing the box back towards Sharpy. “This is way too much.”

“Peeks, buddy. Accept the damn gift, please. For everyone’s sake, don’t question how weirdly over the top he is with you, just take it all on board like you usually do.”

Patrick chews on his bottom lip, considering the black velvet box sitting between them on the counter. It really is beautiful… it’s also easily the most expensive thing he’s ever received as a gift. There’s a part of him that wants to know what Jonny’s reaction would be to seeing him spread out across the sheets in nothing but this diamond choker. The gift is probably more for Jonny for him, he reasons as he thinks about that hungry look Jonny sometimes gets when Patrick’s legs are spread, displaying himself for Jonny’s pleasure.

Patrick opens the lid to look at it again, turning it this way and that, mesmerised by how it sparkles in the light.

“It’s so pretty,” Patrick says reverently, sighing. He guesses… he can always give it back in person or ask Jonny to keep a hold of it.

“Right. Well, I’m assuming that means you’re accepting it, so I’m out. Oh, also Jonny says to be ready for nine tomorrow night. He’ll pick you up.”

“Dress code?” asks Patrick absently, not looking up.

“Suit, no tie,” replies Sharpy.

Patrick considers the choker again. It’s… it feels like a sign ownership, like Jonny is claiming him, collaring him. But Patrick also wonders why anyone would spend this kind of money on someone they’re planning on throwing away later. Because Patrick knows his place in all this, knows he’s not intended for permanency or the long-term. But… it’s a beautiful collar if that’s what it’s supposed to represent. He doesn’t mind Jonny displaying his ownership when it’s like this, when it doesn’t involve pain, only pleasure.

Fuck… Patrick needs to go shopping if he’s going to find something to match the elegance of the neck piece in his hands.

\--

Jonny’s eyes flick to the bag in Patrick’s hand when he picks him up the next night, but he doesn’t ask about it which Patrick is glad about. Just thinking about it makes him a little nervous.

Dinner is at some expensive joint that Jonny has been wanting to try for a few weeks. Patrick sometimes feels a little uncomfortable about the money Jonny spends on him, about the amount of time he spends on Patrick. But he admits to himself (albeit reluctantly) that he likes being taken care of, being made to feel beautiful and delicate and cared for.

They linger over dessert, Jonny’s eyes caught on Patrick’s mouth as he devours the slice of chocolate cake in front of him.

It’s late by the time they get back to the hotel, but Jonny’s eyes are dark and hungry, and Patrick wants… he wants so many things, but tonight he wants to show his appreciation for Jonny’s gift.

Patrick gently pushes him away before Jonny can kiss him when they’re in the privacy of their room.

Jonny growls in frustration but concedes, allowing Patrick to run the show tonight.

“Just… make yourself comfortable or something. I need the bathroom; I’ll just be a minute.”

Jonny’s interest is piqued when he notices that Patrick takes the bag into the bathroom with him and closes the door.

Patrick is shaking with nerves as he regards to contents of his bag. It’s certainly not anything he’s tried before, he’s never gone for lace with pretty frills and ribbons, because he’s so afraid of being laughed at for it. But then he thinks of Jonny’s appreciation the last time, and his beautiful gift. Resolved, Patrick undresses, folding his clothes neatly and leaving them on the counter. He coats his fingers in lube, fingering himself open, wanting to surprise Jonny in this small way too, wanting Jonny to be able to seat himself deep in Patrick as quickly as possible. By the time he pulls out the black lace he’s bought for tonight, he’s flushed and a little breathless. He liked these in the store because the black lace in contrast to his pale skin is striking. The panties are all lace ruffles that don’t quite manage to cover the roundness of his ass, but he thinks it looks sexy, so he doesn’t mind that they don’t fit perfectly. He takes out the sheer stockings, carefully sliding them up until they finish mid-thigh, black satin ribbons carefully shifted until Patrick likes where they sit on the side of his thighs.

To complete the ensemble, he carefully clasps the diamond choker around his neck and applies a swipe of cherry lip gloss to his lips. He’s anxiously anticipating Jonny’s reaction to him, to this. He looks at himself in the mirror. He looks… as pretty as Jonny makes him feel sometimes. He takes a deep breath before stepping out of the bathroom.

\--

The breath is punched right out of Jonny’s lungs when he sees Patrick. He feels dizzy as the blood rushes straight to his cock and he’s painfully hard within a matter of seconds.

“Jesus, Pat,” he says in awe. “You… you look… _fuck_.”

Patrick chews his bottom lip and avoids Jonny’s eyes, nervous as he fingers at the ruffles of the underwear. “Do you… is this ok?” he asks, uncertain. Jonny is sitting up in their bed, naked and with his back resting against the headboard and his phone in his hand.

“ _Baby_ ,” Jonny whines. “You should see yourself right now, you have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are… you’re perfect.”

Patrick smiles to himself, pleased by Jonny’s reaction, blush high on his cheeks.

He approaches slowly when Jonny curls his fingers at him with a soft command, “come here, baby.”

Jonny’s hands are on him as soon as he’s within reach, cupping Patrick’s hips as he climbs onto Jonny, knees either side of his thighs. Jonny strokes up and down his sides and thighs, breath hitching as his fingers catch on the delicate bows of his stockings. Patrick hasn’t seated himself yet, instead curling his fingers in Jonny’s hair and tilting his head back until he can dip down and kiss him sweetly. Jonny deepens the kiss, licking the taste of cherries from Patrick’s lips.

Jonny groans before he circles his arms around Patrick’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. He’s not sure he’s seen anything sexier than Patrick in black lace and diamonds—he thinks he should probably buy him more jewellery, can even now imagine sucking Patrick’s rose-bud nipples into his mouth between delicate strings of gold and diamonds and pearls, can imagine the sparkle of a deep red ruby resting in Patrick’s belly button.

Jonny pulls away from Patrick’s kisses, he looks punch-drunk and Jonny knows he’d do whatever was asked of him; has let Jonny do whatever he wanted to him. It’s a powerful feeling, having someone trust that you won’t hurt them, trust that they’ll do what you both enjoy.

Jonny’s hands move to Patrick’s shoulder blades, before he gently bites at Patrick’s nipples, taking some of Patrick’s weight as he arches his back to press into Jonny’s mouth. Jonny sucks at the rosy nubs, rolling them between his teeth occasionally. Patrick is… sensitive here. His reactions are beautiful, body responding to Jonny’s ministrations with these breathy little moans and sighs.

He gets impatient though, hands in Jonny’s hair pulling him away from his chest to draw him into a deep kiss as he seats himself in the cradle of Jonny’s strong thighs, knees now spreading wide either side of Jonny’s hips.

Jonny’s moan gets swallowed by Patrick’s kiss as he feels the soft lace drag over the sensitive head of his cock. Patrick sucks a wet kiss into the skin just beneath Jonny’s ear as he starts to slowly rock his hips back and forth, grinding up against the hard line of Jonny’s dick. Jonny has one hand tangled in the mess of Patrick’s curls and the other open and pressing into Patrick’s lower back, his fingers slipping beneath the lace waistband to dip into the cleft of Patrick’s ass.

“What do you want, baby?” Jonny whispers, before gently nipping the lobe of his ear.

“Want you in me Jonny,” he says softly. “Want you to make me feel good, make sure I never forget how it feels to have you fucking into me.”

“Yeah… _fuck_ ,” Jonny rasps, hips rocking involuntary to chase Patrick’s as he continues his dizzyingly slow grind against Jonny.

“Just gotta put it in, Jonny,” Pat sighs into his mouth. “Made myself ready for you.”

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” slips reverently from his lips as his fingers dip lower to feel the evidence of Patrick’s statement.

His hole flutters around Jonny’s fingers as he dips them in beneath the lace, first one, then two, then a third to make sure he’s stretched wide enough to take Jonny. The wet slide of his fingers against Patrick’s rim is hypnotising, and for a moment Jonny contemplates finishing this with Patrick riding his fingers. As if reading his thoughts, Patrick bites Jonny’s bottom lip sharply before demanding that Jonny get his dick in him _now_.

“So bossy,” Jonny smiles against his mouth.

The lace, he discovers, is a problem at this angle. But Patrick refuses to unlatch himself long enough to get them off so Jonny grips the delicate lace and rips it off Patrick. The gasp Patrick releases is totally worth the ruined piece of lingerie. He’s definitely buying Patrick more; in whatever styles and colours he desires.

They shift far enough away from each other so Jonny can slip a condom on and Patrick helpfully drips lube over his head of his cock. He shudders as he feels it slide down his cock before Patrick takes him in hand to spread it over his length. His hands are gripping Patrick’s hips tightly, steadying him as he holds Jonny in place and slowly starts to lower himself.

Once Patrick is fully seated, they pause, waiting for Patrick to get comfortable with stretch of Jonny’s cock buried deep in him. Their foreheads are touching, and they’re breathing wetly into each other’s mouths. Patrick’s arms are wrapped around Jonny’s shoulders and Jonny responds in like, wrapping his arms low around his waist to hitch him a little higher up and onto Jonny.

He wants to lick the length of Patrick’s neck when his head falls back with a sigh, using Jonny’s hold on him to arch back and pull as much of Jonny into him as possible, but the fucking choker is in the way. Instead, he sucks a kiss just beneath it, in the hollow of Patrick’s throat.

Patrick rolls his hips in a small circle, Jonny’s cock deep in him. The angle isn’t enough, Jonny’s cock only brushing up against his prostate occasionally, but Patrick gets lost in it until Jonny tips him back all the way. He doesn’t pull out at all, watches as Patrick stretches languidly back until his shoulders are against the bed and his knees either side of Jonny’s ribcage.

Jonny gets Patrick’s stockinged knees over his shoulders before he follows, tipping further forward until Patrick feels like he’s been folded in half. But… but he can feel Jonny slip deeper into him and it has him gasping. Jonny grinds into Patrick, steady and rubbing against Patrick’s prostate perfectly. It feels like hours before he feels Patrick tighten around him, coming with a shout.

Jonny pulls out, letting Patrick’s legs fall open. He’s a fucking mess, his own come coating his chest, skin flushed pink and hole wet as lube drips out of him. He takes the condom off, throwing it to the side carelessly before stroking himself a few times, enjoying how debauched Patrick looks in nothing but his come, a diamond choker and sheer black stockings. Patrick watches him for a few moments, gaze glassy from being fucked out, before he makes grabby hands at him. Jonny has no choice but to obey, moving to brace himself over Patrick, between his splayed thighs.

Patrick draws him down into open-mouthed and lazy kisses, sucking Jonny’s tongue into his mouth as he wraps his hand around Jonny’s cock, grip firm and sure. It doesn’t take long for Jonny to follow him over the edge.

\--

“You like it, then?” Jonny asks, fingers tracing the edge of the sparkling choker fit snug around Patrick’s neck.

They’re curled around each other, clean and naked except for the choker draped over the delicate line of Patrick’s throat. He’d told Patrick to leave it on, liking the way it shone against his pale skin. He’s glad Patrick seems to like it—he deserves beautiful things.

“Yeah, baby,” he replies, expression open and soft as he smiles at Jonny. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

“It looks good on you. I should buy you more,” he comments absentmindedly.

“You’re gonna spoil me, Jonny,” Patrick murmurs, “buying me such expensive gifts. Not sure what I did to deserve it but thank you. It… it makes me feel beautiful.”

“You don’t have to earn gifts, Patrick,” Jonny replies, pressing a kiss to the skin just above the choker.


	12. Chapter 12

He’s smiling, humming a tune under his breath when he walks into the lobby of the hotel. He doesn’t usually look into the direction of the restaurant, but a loud laugh catches his attention and he glances over in interest. His heart stutters when he notices Jonny, a soft and easy smile on his face as he’s talking to a woman. They’re tucked away in a booth, facing the lobby of the hotel and Jonny is… it’s a version of Jonny he doesn’t think he’s seen before.

He stumbles back, quick and hopeful that Jonny doesn’t spot him before he can hide himself in a dark corner of the lobby and watch. It’s masochistic, he can feel his heart breaking as he goes back to watching them, but he can’t help himself, hopes it’s just him misunderstanding or reading the situation wrong. But no, he thinks, watching as Jonny tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. He doesn’t think he’s reading this wrong at all.

There’s a part of Patrick that knows he shouldn’t be upset by what he’s seeing, because he’d known he was Jonny’s dirty little secret. Still, it’s one thing to know that he’s basically shaping up to be Jonny’s mistress and another to actually see Jonny on a very public date with someone that isn’t him. The location… Jonny intends to be seen with whoever she is. Jonny doesn’t take Patrick on dates where they’ll be noticed—it’s all dark corners, private booths or rooms and places that are known for their discretion.

He’d wanted to surprise Jonny tonight. He’d gone to get Jonny’s favourite vegan, gluten-free, fun-free meal (it’s from this health-freak restaurant place that doesn’t actually do takeout but they know Patrick because he’s usually accompanied by Jonny and for Jonny, takeout is always an option) and he’d even picked up some cookie dough ice cream for dessert (Jonny’s guilty pleasure he’s discovered) and he’d wanted to spend the night with him. It’s been a few days since Jonny had fucked him while wearing that diamond choker, and Patrick had thought… had thought something had changed between them. He’d thought Jonny… but no, Patrick reminds himself, he’s not good enough for that. Never has been and likely never will be. You don’t love the mistress, he berates himself, you just fuck them.

He makes himself sit through the dinner, watching with detached interest at their flirtation. She’s beautiful, he acknowledges. Her hair is a deep rich brown falling in perfect waves down her back, her make-up barely there but for the blush of red lipstick. She’s thin and compact, delicate in a way that Patrick can never be.

Dessert is a lesson in torture; he watches as they share a slice of chocolate cake that Patrick knows for a fact that Jonny hates (he hates everything his own hotel makes, it’s just weird), watches as Jonny feeds her small bites. The conversation seems easy, he doesn’t notice any awkward pauses. It makes him think that this hasn’t been their first date, they look too comfortable with each other for it to be a first date. Jonny is smooth, Patrick admits, but he’s not _that_ smooth. Patrick wants to be sick because he’s not sure if this is even real—is this the real Jonny or is this just another lie? Or is the lie the version of Jonny that Patrick gets to have?

He watches as they stand—she’s small, probably shorter than Patrick is, and her dress is a perfect balance between demure and sexy. He suddenly feels terribly self-conscious, because where she’s all elegance and grace… he’s just… sloppy. He fingers the edge of the ‘Hawks cap he’d pushed over his curls backwards to keep them out his face and looks down at himself, cringing at the loose-fitting jeans and black t-shirt. Jonny’s never said anything outright about the way he dresses, but he knows Jonny appreciates it when he dresses well, and he knows Jonny likes it better when he’s dressed well.

Patrick is as gay as they come, but he can appreciate the beauty of a woman’s soft curves, can understand what is attractive to other men. He hadn’t even thought to question Jonny’s sexuality until now. Was Jonny even out of the closet? Did his family know that he slept with men too? But then that’s the distinction, he thinks, Jonny probably just sleeps with men but dates women. It makes him feel dirty in a way he’s never felt with Jonny.

Jonny escorts her to the bank of lifts, a hand pressed to the small of her back. He’s whispering into her ear, smiling in a way that generally indicates he’s saying something dirty, and Patrick doesn’t even have to look at what floor they get off on because he knows _exactly_ what’s following dinner.

They’d never spoken about exclusivity… but Patrick had genuinely thought that… that it was just him. Or that Jonny would at least respect him enough to let him know he wasn’t the only one. How naïve, Patrick berates himself. He wonders how long Jonny has been seeing her, if there have been others like him and like her.

Clearly, whatever he’d thought was going on between Jonny and him had been so utterly wrong. He takes a few deep breaths to try and centre himself, because at some point he’d started fucking crying. He’s such a fucking embarrassment sometimes. It’s time for him to go, he thinks… not just leave the lobby of this stupid hotel but leave Chicago.

He startles at the hand on his shoulder and he immediately shrugs it off before turning to apologise to what he assumes will be the hotel staff, telling him off for loitering. He stops short when he realises it’s Sharpy.

“Peeks,” he sighs, looking guilty as fuck.

Yeah, if Patrick hadn’t come to the realisation on his own, Sharpy’s hang-dog expression would’ve been confirmation enough.

“It’s fine,” Patrick nods, smiling at Sharpy. “It’s fine, Sharpy,” he repeats, trying to convince himself.

Instead of leaving him alone, Sharpy tugs at the plastic bag still clutched tight in his hand. The ice cream is probably melted by now, Patrick thinks idly. He should go home.

“It’s nothing,” Patrick says, taking a deep breath. “I just thought… actually I don’t know what I was thinking. But it’s fine.”

“Peeks… you have to understand, Jonny—"

“I understand just fine,” Patrick interrupts, tone suddenly sharp and cold as ice. It’s who he was before Chicago that’s coming to the surface now. It’s an armour he hasn’t had to put on for years, but he will not be schooled in these matters by someone from whom he should command respect, not pity. He may have run away, but he’d been an heir for some time, had survived his family and had survived Enda so he can damn well survive Jonathon Toews too. “I know his family doesn’t know about me, I know I’m not a suitable match, and I know this was never about love.”

Sharpy looks very surprised at the abrupt shift in Patrick.

“You will not inform Jonathon I was here tonight,” Patrick orders, eyes forward and on the lifts.

“Uh, well—”

“You will _not_ inform Jonathon I was here tonight,” Patrick interrupts, repeating himself with a more commanding tone. He looks directly at Sharpy to deliver the rest, eyes clear and expression broking no argument. “He doesn’t need to know, and our arrangement is none of your business. Have I made myself clear?”

Sharpy’s eyes are wide and he doesn’t realise Patrick is actually waiting for a response until Patrick raises an eyebrow at him and tilts his chin back in challenge.

“Crystal,” Sharpy replies, still confused because he thinks his balls just crawled up into him in _fear._ Patrick looks old beyond his years, no longer the college student, but something so much more. It confuses the fuck out of Sharpy.

Patrick nods sharply before turning and leaving, head held high.

He looks fucking regal, Sharpy thinks, watching as he goes. He still has no idea what just happened but it’s definitely interesting. Sharpy is actually afraid of what might happen to him if he says anything—he’s definitely more afraid of Patrick right now than of Jonny which is also something to think about. For the first time since the little shit has been involved in their lives, he’s wondering if Toews actually knows what he’s dealing with here, if he’s aware that Patrick might be just as powerful as he is. Who the fuck _is_ this kid?

\--

When Jonny picks up Patrick for their next date, he’s not greeted with his customary kiss, just Patrick’s warm smile that always manages to loosen something in Jonny’s chest. Undeterred, Jonny leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead in greeting instead.

“How was work?” he asks after they’re situated in the car. Patrick looks nice tonight, in a suit that doesn’t fit him as well as it could, but Jonny appreciates the effort nonetheless.

Jonny relaxes, listening to Patrick as he talks about his colleagues and how he’s figured out which one of them is slipping change from the till; and then he asks Jonny a question and it’s only at the end of their night, Patrick curled up in a tight little ball, back facing away from Jonny and not touching him, that Jonny realises that that time in the car had been the only time Patrick had really spoken all night.

\--

Patrick pulls himself away from Jonny slowly because he’s got himself to think about now. He’s glad he saw Jonny with another woman, it was the reality check he’d needed to get his ass moving. He’d been in this bubble where he’d thought Jonny maybe could love him back one day, that he could be a part of his life in the long term. Wishful thinking is all it was, but when hope exists it’s hard to ignore. He’s glad that he knows he doesn’t have a chance now. Jonny’s family comes first, has always come first, so Patrick has to put himself first now, because no one else ever will.

He wants to be angry at Jonny too, but he knows it isn’t his fault. Getting angry about not being good enough to be chosen first, placed equal to family loyalty, isn’t going to hurt anyone but Patrick. It’s not worth bringing up to Jonny either, he imagines it will just end in them fighting and ruining whatever time they have left together. His heartbreak will be his own and he’ll take the time to mourn what could have been when he’s not in Chicago anymore, when he doesn’t have Jonny around.

He can’t keep this up for long though—he’s struggling to keep his shit together as it is. Jonny is… god, he’d give Jonny the world if he was given the chance. But that chance was never supposed to be for Patrick, and he needs to let Jonny go to someone deserving, someone that actually matters, has the opportunity. Because, he’s beginning to realise, Jonny isn’t going to let him go easily.

He doesn’t know where he can go, though, while he waits on a passport. He’d also be upset to leave Segs, whose been the first genuine friend Patrick’s had in a long time.

He could go to Pittsburgh—Sid likes him but hates his family, so he thinks he’d be able to disappear back into obscurity over there, would have access to help at least if someone came looking. New York is an option too, but the Russians are there, and their decision-making tends to be erratic and very violent so he’s not sure he’d actually be able to be invisible there, to stay unrecognised or just be left the hell alone. He wishes there were a city that just had no organised crime, but these days that’s asking for too much.

He’s avoided small towns so far because it’s hard to be invisible in small towns. They have nosy neighbours and their unending curiosity which means people prying into his life unwelcomed… but… but he could get himself a place that’s a little off the beaten track, quiet and away from prying eyes, just until he can arrange getting out of the country. He thinks he’d enjoy the solitude for a while, he feels like he’s just been jumping from one shit-heap to the next the last few years and he imagines a break would be nice. Somewhere warm, where he can soak up the sun and nap in the shade… somewhere Jonny, or Enda, or his family will never find him, where he’ll just be left alone.

He applies to the university to complete his final semester online the next day.

\--

Patrick researches for hours and eventually finds a small town in the middle of nowhere he thinks will work. He contacts the local realtor and gives them his list of ‘needs’ and ‘nice to haves’ and sets them looking. A week later he’s purchased a property, it’s got acres of land and is a twenty-minute drive away from his closest neighbours.

He has two months to go before he finishes this semester so now it’s just a matter of waiting. He’ll pack the necessities but leave the rest behind. He’ll ask Tyler to return the choker after he’s gone, doesn’t think Jonny would take it well if he did it in person. He doesn’t want reminders of his time in Chicago in his new home, doesn’t want to remember the way Jonny had looked at him while he wore it.


	13. Chapter 13

Jonny is annoyed—things with Patrick have been… off, like Patrick is there but _not_. He’s annoyed because he doesn’t know why Patrick is acting strangely, which means he can’t fix it. He’s also annoyed because it’s taken him a while to notice that something _is_ up.

Sharpy is acting strangely too. He’s looking at Patrick with this level of respect that’s new. It confuses Jonny because Patrick Sharp respects very few people, and he hadn’t been aware of when Patrick had exactly joined the ranks, had earned the respect of Jonny’s righthand man.

Everything _seems_ normal is the thing that throws him off—Jonny still takes him to quiet restaurants where they won’t be noticed, and the sex is still mind-blowing (he’s wondering if it will ever be any different or if they’re just so compatible that amazing sex is just part of the deal). But the sex is also _quiet_ which Jonny is unused to, because Patrick makes a lot of noise and it’s been a point of pride that Jonny can distract Patrick so much so that he’s completely unrestrained when they’re in bed together. But this version of Patrick is… cold? Unfeeling? Which isn’t quite right either because he’s still passionate, responds to Jonny in ways that no one ever has before. But he’s distant in a way that Jonny’s not sure makes sense either. He turns away from Jonny instead of curling up to him like he usually does. He disappears quickly in the morning and he’s busy, constantly checking his phone for e-mails or leaving to make calls.

They’re fine outside of sex, he thinks. He tries to remember the last few weeks of dates they’ve had but it’s all just Patrick’s soft smiles and easy conversation. They don’t touch as much in public anymore, but every time Jonny tries to ask about it Patrick will distract him (usually with sex because Jonny is easy for it and can’t say no to him). Actually, they don’t talk much about anything important anymore.

“Do you love him?” Sharpy asks, out of the blue.

Jonny is looking through some of the more important paperwork for a deal he’s just made with Sidney Crosby and the crew in Pittsburgh, thoughts distracted by Patrick (which seems to be a new normal he really can’t afford). “Why?” Jonny replies, still flicking through the draft contract and making a few notations in the margin.

“Because I think it’s time for you to decide whether you’re going to take him seriously or not. We need to consider how to bring him into the fold, how to introduce him to the family, how to keep a tail on him. It’s irresponsible to leave him this unprotected at this point, he’s vulnerable and a very easy way to get to you. You haven’t exactly been discrete,” he observes.

“Where is this coming from?” Jonny asks, setting his pen to the side and looking at Sharpy across the desk. “You know he’d never be approved of. He’s too _normal_ despite the side hustle he has. He won’t adapt, won’t want to. He’s not a suitable match, doesn’t bring anything to the table, can’t provide me with heirs.”

“I think you need to carefully look over your relationship with him, Toews. He’s certainly not normal.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I… I might have tried to find out a little more about the guy, try and see what we’re dealing with? If he was in the clear to get so close to you. But… Jonny, I can’t find evidence of him prior to Chicago. I mean the identity is solid—on paper he looks legit, wouldn’t be stopped at the border if he decided to leave—but he’s a ghost off the record. No school photos, no family records beyond his apparently deceased parents—no bank records, no concrete addresses of where he was before being _here_. Well… not that we have an address for him here, but he’s definitely not in witness protection, I checked, so what would a guy like him need a whole new identity for?”

“How long have you been sitting on this?”

“I only just found out! I thought he’d be worth looking into if you told me you were serious about him,” Sharpy says, shrugging. “I mean—he really did seem so normal and harmless that I didn’t look beyond the paper trail when you first started… whatever it is you two are or aren’t.”

Jonny is angry, because there seems to be a whole lot about Patrick that he doesn’t know, hasn’t been privy to. How dare he? Jonny _owns_ him, mind, body and soul.

“So, I’m gathering from that expression that that’s a yes then? To you being serious about him? Don’t look at me like Tazer, just making sure!”

\--

It’s unfortunate that before they manage to find anything themselves (or speak to Patrick), a request comes in from the Meagher family looking for an errant husband—and not just any husband, Meagher’s husband, who apparently disappeared the night of their wedding. And the cherry on the proverbial top? He’s the eldest Kane and their former heir. It’s an odd situation and Jonny briefly spares a thought about exactly what Patrick did to be removed as heir and married off to a fairly minor family.

Jonny regards the photos with a blank expression. The man in the pictures has short hair, no curls, and his eyes are flat, expression forced. It’s definitely Patrick though, _his_ Patrick. He’s angry, _livid_ , because he can’t believe he’s just Patrick’s sloppy seconds, that Patrick’s still legally married into a rival family. What is he to Patrick? A game? An amusement until he goes back to Enda fucking Meagher? To think he’d almost risked everything for an unfaithful con artist, Jonny is disappointed in himself. He should know better.

“Bring him to me,” Jonny orders eventually, closing the folder and moving it to the edge of his desk.

“Here?” Sharpy asks, uncertain. Bringing Patrick into Jonny’s office isn’t good news, people only get invited in if they won’t be allowed out again.

“Yes, Sharp. _Here_ ,” he commands, tone underlined with steel.

“Jesus, you’re as bad about this shit as he is. You deserve each other,” he mutters in disgust, turning to follow his orders. Looks like he has a Peekaboo to go track down.

\--

Patrick has just started with his packing when his phone rings. He’s leaving early next week because he doesn’t usually see Jonny early in the week, so it’ll give him a few days head start. He’s decided to do the journey by bus—it’s annoying and means his journey will take a few days instead of just a few hours, but he needs to dip off the radar for long enough that if Jonny feels like revenge he won’t be able to be found. He can do buses with cash and no ID which is why it’s more convenient than flying.

Tyler is upset, but Patrick promises that once he’s settled into his new place he’ll get in touch, that he’ll be welcome to join him whenever he wants (after he makes sure Jonny has given up on trying to find him though). He agrees to take the choker back to Jonny at the club on Friday, Patrick is insistent that it be the club because it’s a public space and Tyler will be able to slip out if Jonny feels like shooting the messenger. He also instructs Tyler to try and give it to Sharpy and avoid Jonny altogether. Sharpy, he reasons, will know exactly what it means. Tyler had wanted to sell it when Patrick had told him about seeing Jonny with another woman, but Patrick puts his foot down—it has to be returned.

He ignores his phone for the minute, frowning at his closet and trying to decide whether it would be worth taking one suit with him, just in case. He’ll be in the middle of nowhere though, so a suit really seems like something that’d be a luxury more than a necessity.

He rolls his eyes in exasperation when his phone goes off for a fourth time. It has to be Jonny, no one else is that impatient. He frowns when he notices it’s Sharpy calling and he immediately starts thinking the worst.

“Is everything ok? Is Jonny ok?” he asks immediately, picking up.

Sharpy pauses long enough to make Patrick really start worrying when he says, “no, Peeks. Jonny’s fine.”

Patrick lets out a deep breath as he falls back onto his bed, careful to avoid the open suitcase. “Jesus, Sharpy. Way to give a guy a heart attack! What’s up then? Why the fifty calls?”

“Jonny wants to see you.”

“And it can’t wait? It’s like 10AM, he never wants me this early.”

“I don’t question Jonny’s orders.”

Sharpy is being strangely… lacklustre in their banter. “Ok? Are you sure everything is ok Sharpy? You’d tell me if something happened, right?”

“How soon can you be ready?” he replies instead.

Patrick frowns and glances over at his alarm clock. “I can be at the hotel in an hour.”

“I’ll pick you up, you’re not headed to the hotel today.”

“Sure,” Patrick says, drawing it out, because this conversation is not flooding him with warmth. “I guess the café in an hour then.”

“Don’t be late,” he warns before hanging up.

Patrick frowns at his phone for a minute, because he’s sure that that had been weird, but there’s no reason that something would be wrong. Unless… unless Jonny was breaking up with him? But then why the urgency? They’re supposed to meet up Thursday anyway.

\--

“Where are we headed then?” asks Patrick, slipping into the back of the car. He darts a confused glance at Seabs who, for the first time, is seated in the back with him.

“Jonny wants to see you,” Sharpy repeats, shrugging. “We’re heading to the office.”

Patrick’s eyes dart between Sharpy and Seabs before he tries darting out the car door as they pull off the curb. It’s fucking locked.

“Can’t let you do that, Peeks. Sorry,” Seabs says in resignation.

_Shit_.

\--

“Patrick Timothy Kane II,” greets Jonny, his voice icy.

Patrick’s reaction is instant, he feels like someone just punched him in the chest. He goes from being wary to sheer panic fairly quickly too. “What?” he asks, his voice scratchy with disbelief, face as pale as a sheet of paper. This _cannot_ be happening right now. He’s literally fucking leaving next week.

“Imagine my surprise,” Jonny says, dangerously calm as he starts flicking through the contents of a folder, “when I get a request to track down someone that appears to look alarmingly like my lover.”

“Jonny,” Patrick pleads. “It’s not… it’s not what it looks like ok?” Patrick runs his hands through his hair, tugging nervously at the ends. “This… this isn’t the way I wanted you to find out.”

Jonny’s posture is rigid, coiled tight like a spring, and the expression he wears is dark with betrayal and disgust. “When?” he sneers. “When were you planning on telling me?”

Patrick has no response because he’d kind of been hoping he’d never have to say anything… ever.

“I really have no fucking idea who you really are, do I? Who the hell _are_ you?

“I’m the person I want to be when I’m here, with you. I’m still me, Jonny,” Patrick pleads quietly. He so desperately wants the chance to explain himself because he can’t bear the look of derision on Jonny’s face. Like he’s some kind of worthless whore that tricked him into this relationship. “Please don’t think less of me for this, please. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re fucking married, Patrick! To the head of a rival fucking family,” he roars, throwing the folder at him. “God-damnit Patrick, you’re damaged goods! I can’t believe I almost risked everything for _you_.”

Patrick flinches back as the pictures scatter around him. He looks down and sees photos from his wedding and it’s enough to make his stomach churn. He can still remember Enda’s hands forcing him down to his knees. He can’t go back to that, he won’t. “Jonny, _no_. Please tell me you didn’t say anything yet, please,” he begs, feeling the tears begin to well in his eyes. His head is reeling.

“You think I’d fucking admit to sleeping with Meagher’s fucking husband?” he yells at Patrick. “I might as well declare war!”

“He’s not my husband,” Patrick spits vehemently. He’s shaking, though he’s not sure if it’s because of the shock or the anger. “I’d rather die than go back to that piece of shit. So, you’d better put a bullet in my head because that’s the only way this ends well for either of us.”

“You’re nothing but a whore to an old man,” Jonny hisses.

Patrick knows Jonny is hurting, that he feels like he’s been betrayed by Patrick somehow, but it hurts to hear him say what Patrick sometimes thinks of himself. It hurts to hear that he _is_ worthless, that he doesn’t get to have a happily ever after because he doesn’t deserve it, because other people don’t think he deserves it.

“Fuck you!” Patrick screams back at him, ignoring the tears that are freely running down his face now. He can’t believe Jonny would hurt him like this, but he should’ve known better. Jonny is just like _them_. “You don’t get to cast stones here, _Jonathon_. I’m sorry being sold into a marriage I didn’t agree to and being assaulted on my wedding night makes me _damaged goods_ , but I warned you to stay away from me and you fucking bulldozed over all that because the only person you give a shit about is yourself. You’re no better than Enda, no better than my family who _sold_ me when I wasn’t useful to them anymore.”

The slap is unexpected, Patrick admits to himself as he backs away quickly, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to put some much-needed distance between them. It’s more shock and awe than anything else, because Jonny was nice enough to use an open palm, but it still brings him back to reality quickly. He needs to get the hell out of dodge because they’re definitely in Chicago. He feels the start of a panic attack hit him as he feels the noose tightening around his neck, and he can’t go back… he can’t. He knows he’ll break well before he’s killed… if Enda is even merciful enough to pull the trigger, of which he has serious doubts about.

“Get the hell away from me,” Patricks gasps as Jonny starts to approach, looking a little alarmed at the change of pace and, Patrick thinks, shocked that he’d actually hit him. He shoves Jonny back hard when his command is ignored, forcing himself to take deep breaths and keep his eyes on Jonny who is swinging between angry and concerned disconcertingly quickly. Jonny has never given him a reason to fear him until now, and Patrick… he’s afraid. He’s afraid of Jonny and what Jonny could do to him now that all his cards are on the table. “I thought… thought you were different. I can’t believe I love you.”

He should be the one to feel betrayed because he’d thought Jonny was better than this world, better than the people in it. “Stay the fuck away from me,” Patrick manages to stumble out. His breathing isn’t back to normal, but he needs to get away from Jonny before he does something stupid, like decide to hand Pat over on a silver platter.

Surprisingly, no one tries to stop him when he leaves.

\--

The thing is Patrick likes living in quiet areas where the police are too afraid to go and the criminal underbelly of the city thrives. It means he doesn’t have nosy neighbours or inquisitive locals. Everyone minds their own business because they don’t want other people minding theirs.

The downside is that when shit goes down, like gunshots or kidnapping, no one ever comes to help or calls for help. It was his own fault, Patrick admits, he should’ve left Chicago as soon as photos of him started popping up online. Instead, he’d let himself be distracted by Jonny and the chance at living a life he didn’t hate. Per usual he’s the only one that pays for it, because Jonny certainly won’t, not after how they left things.

He’s still reeling from his fight with Jonny and he realises too late that his apartment isn’t empty. He tries to back out quickly and run back down the stairs but someone’s already standing there, gun drawn. So, Patrick does the only thing he can, he fights and hopes one of them will accidentally get trigger happy and return fire. He thinks he shoots three of them, but he’s not sure how many were lying in wait in the first place which is probably why he’s hog-tied and rolling around in the back of a car with his mouth taped shut and a bag over his head. He hurts as well; they definitely didn’t pull their punches when they took him down. He’s glad for the black sack over his head—it means no one can see him crying. Despite everything, he wishes he’d had the chance to say goodbye to Jonny, to Tyler.

He remembers being hysterical, screaming for help and still fighting when they took him down, but they eventually got him still enough to knock him out—and now? Now he’s only alive as long his husband will find him useful.

\--

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Tyler mutters, shaking as he glances around Pat’s apartment.

It’s a fucking mess and there are three dead guys and there’s a of blood on the floor… also on other things like Pat’s phone that he is now repeatedly pressing redial _because Jonny is supposed to look after him_.

“What?”

It’s not Jonny, but fuck it, who cares at this point? “Hey, hey… it’s uh, it’s Tyler. Shit, shit,” he says, pausing to take a few deep breaths despite the cloying coppery smell of blood. “Do you have Pat?” he asks shakily. “Do you know where he is? Because there are three dead guys here and they don’t look like the friendly kind of dead and there’s a lot of blood… so much… so, so much.”

“ _Calm down, you’re barely coherent,_ ” the voice orders. “ _Where are you?_ ”

“Patrick’s apartment. We were supposed to meet up for dinner,” Tyler cries. “What should I do? I don’t know what to do.”

“ _Give me the address, Tyler,_ ” the voice orders calmly. “ _We’ll come and sort it out, you have my word. Whatever you do, do not call the police, ok?_ ”

“So… so… so you don’t have Patty?” Tyler sniffles.

There’s an awkward pause before he gets an answer, “… _no. But we’ll figure it out, ok? Peeks is going to be fine._ ”

“You can’t promise that,” Tyler cries. “What if some of this blood is his?”

“ _Give me the address, Tyler,_ ” the voice orders again, soft.

Tyler rattles off the address before hanging up and finding a corner to curl up in that doesn’t look like an episode of Criminal Minds.

\--

“Jon,” Sharpy interrupts. “It’s urgent.”

Jonny frowns, looking unimpressed at the interruption but excuses himself from the call and considers Sharpy. “What did he want then?”

“Jonny, I know it might be hard for you, but try not to be any more of a dickhead than you already are,” Sharpy delivers flatly, remembering that when he’d called, Pat’s first concern had been whether Jonny was ok. “Think you can manage that for long enough for me to tell you that Patrick is missing and there are apparently three dead guys in his apartment?”

“Who called it in?”

“Tyler. The kid’s a mess but he gave me the address and he’s expecting us.”

Jonny is all business when he checks his pistol and slips it into the holster beneath his jacket. “How far away?” he asks as he moves out of the office.

“Not far,” Sharpy assures him as he follows.

\--

It’s the first time Jonny has been to Patrick’s apartment and he immediately regrets it because he hasn’t been invited here yet and, even after everything, it feels like an invasion of his privacy. He looks around the apartment as his team try to sort out the chaos. It’s a pity it’s such a mess because he can see Patrick’s influence everywhere, but, he realises, there’s nothing to show Patrick had a life before Chicago. There are no family photos, no childhood trinkets, nothing that ties him to a life in Buffalo, or to a husband.

“So, I’m guessing they took him alive,” Sharpy interrupts his thoughts.

“Who?” Jonny asks. “Who would take him?”

“It has to be either the Kane family or Enda—my guess is Enda given he’s been looking for him and the Kane’s, well, they’re not.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, watching as Seabs and Duncs dig through Patrick’s belongings with gloves on. Jonny is more concerned by the suitcase lying open and half packed on his bed. Had Patrick been planning on going somewhere? Had he known there were people after him? There’s a part of Jonny that’s bothered by the fact that Patrick didn’t trust him enough to tell him all this, to let him help.

Tyler is hiccupping, trying to catch his breath as he talks to Shawzy, tries to answer his questions.

“Why? Why would he take his husband back after he’s been missing for so long?” Jonny asks carefully. It must be three or four years since Patrick disappeared, surely that’s long enough for Enda to realise he hadn’t remained faithful?

“Does Enda strike you as the sort of guy that’d just let his minions handle something like this? He’s going to be made to pay for his betrayal, Jon. What’s worse, do you think, being killed or being made to go back? You heard him, Enda… who knows what he did before Patrick ran. Who knows what he did to make Patrick run in the first place? The guy doesn’t exactly have a reputation for treating his lovers with a lot of care.”

And suddenly Jonny feels furious, because some slimy Irishman had gotten into his city and taken his partner and had done so without anyone knowing. The organisation isn’t all-seeing, but they should’ve picked up that another family had been in town. More importantly, he doesn’t particularly appreciate when people take what’s his, touch what’s his. “He’s not Enda’s _lover_ ,” snaps Jonny, voice sure and confident. “He belongs to me, he loves _me_.”

Sharpy puts his hands up placatingly. “Sorry, boss. It just seemed…” he trails off, uncertain. “I thought…”

“Your job isn’t to have opinions about the people I fuck,” Jonny interrupts icily. “Your job is to get him back.”

Sharpy doesn’t look upset, rather he grins wide and happy that he’s eventually acknowledged Patrick. “Shall I inform your father then?”

Jonathon purses his lips in irritation. Yes, he supposes, the family should be contacted about this because it _will_ end in blood… specifically Enda’s. God, how is he going to explain this mess to his parents? His brother is going to laugh at him.

“No. I’ll do it, I suppose it can’t be avoided now,” Jonny sighs eventually. “Ask for some of his time but, just be discrete. My parents don’t need to know all the details of our relationship.”

Sharpy looks like he wants to argue but Jonny shuts him up with a glare. “Get in touch with our contact in the P.D., and then make sure these guys are actually from Enda’s crew,” instructs Jonny, making his way towards Tyler and stepping carefully around the bodies and the mess. Jonny feels a flash of pride at the chaos—Patrick had fought well despite being taken. “And once they’ve cleared the apartment make sure it gets cleaned. I won’t have him come home to this mess. Also, someone is going to pay for letting them slip in unnoticed, so I suggest you deal with whatever weakness there is before I find it.”

Sharpy nods, already dialling a number on his phone.

“You’ll be staying with the family for a while,” he instructs Tyler. “At least until we can be certain you’ll be safe. Patrick would demand nothing less. Do you know if he was going anywhere? There’s a suitcase on his bed.”

Tyler looks at him, guilt written all over his face. So, he’d known that Patrick had been planning to leave, then.

“Why would he leave?”

“Why would he stay?” Tyler asks him in return, before blowing his nose. “He knew you were seeing other people. He may never admit it but, you really hurt him, you know?”

_Jesus_ , that explains a lot.

“He was supposed to leave on Monday. I was supposed to give your stupid gift back the following Friday.”

Jonny’s shoulders slump in defeat. He can’t believe Patrick stayed with him despite knowing. Why would he do that himself?

“You love him too, don’t you? It’s why you’re here,” Tyler asks, wringing a tissue between his hands.

“Yeah, Tyler. I love him,” Jonny admits aloud.

“You can get him back, right?” Tyler asks pitifully. “He’s my best friend… I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“I know,” Jonny says, gentle as he guides Tyler from the apartment building. “You’ll have him back, I promise.”


	14. Chapter 14

They’re in the Meagher estate, can be nowhere else, he realises as he turns his head as much as possible to look around the room. His family offices do not look like this at all. He’s tied to a chair and whoever did the job was inconveniently good at it. The ropes are tight enough that the tips of his fingers have a blue tinge to them. His knees and ankles are tied too, as well the chair being bolted to the floor, which just seems like overkill to Patrick, but he guesses he could be considered to be a flight risk. It’s fucking cold as hell in this little concrete box, and he’s been stripped of his coat and hoodie between Chicago and here.

Patrick watches with feigned interest as the door in the far corner opens and one of Enda’s employees’ shuffles in and obediently puts a much more comfortable looking chair across from Patrick. Ah, Patrick realises, the man of hour is going to speak to him directly then. Lucky him.

The guy stays, moves behind him so he’s out of Patrick’s line of sight—it makes him nervous, not being able to see him. Probably why they do it, though, to keep Patrick on edge and afraid. Unfortunately, it works.

Enda hasn’t changed since he last saw him on their wedding night. He still makes Patrick’s skin crawl on sight. Patrick’s eyes narrow as he watches the old man move, looking for any sign of weakness. He’s disappointed when he can’t find any immediately. It’s quiet as he moves to sit across from Patrick. No one says anything for what feels like an age, the silence unsettling. Patrick refuses to break though, he’s not the one with places to be so he can win this small battle.

“Patrick,” Enda eventually says. “You’re looking… different. The curls are cute, childish, but cute. Eyes still with the same defiance. You left before I had the chance to break you, last time—I think I’ll enjoying watching the fight leave you. Seems so much more rewarding after this wild little goose chase you sent me on for the last few years.”

Patrick doesn’t reply, clenches his jaw to stop himself from spitting something back at the asshole. He doesn’t particularly care what Enda thinks.

“I’m sorry about the current accommodations. I’m sure you can understand, though, why I’m anxious to keep you under lock and key.”

Silence falls over the room again. Patrick isn’t sure what Enda wants him to say because he hasn’t asked any questions. He doesn’t want to reveal anything because he’s not sure how much Enda does or doesn’t know.

“Not very talkative, are you? But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

Patrick tries to not squirm as the old man just runs his eyes over him slowly, like he’s assessing the damage to his brood mare. It makes his stomach turn.

“I’d put you on your knees again,” Enda reminisces, “but I don’t think that would end well at this point.”

Patrick can’t help but let a feral grin slip through because the old man isn’t wrong. He’d take a vicious kind of pleasure in biting his dick off for daring to try.

“No matter. I think I’ll collar you for now, so you can learn your place.”

He nods at the guy that’s been lurking around behind Patrick and he immediately tenses up because that motherfucker wouldn’t _dare_. He tries to fight, makes the guy’s job as difficult as possible even though he’s tied down to fucking chair, but the collar is on him and locked soon enough. He feels the weight of a chain get added to the ensemble.

“Your feet too, I think. Can’t have you kicking anyone, can we?”

Patrick is seething as the guy comes around the front to kneel at his feet, cutting the rope around one ankle and shackling it before moving to the next. The chain linking his ankles is barely long enough to walk.

Jesus, what kind of sick fuck is this guy?

“Better, I think. We’ll have to get rid of those curls too—too much work to keep for now.”

The chain connected to the collar is pulled tight behind him so he can’t move his head forward without choking himself. He doesn’t fight this though, just sits quiet and complacent as they shave his curls off, meeting Enda’s gaze unflinchingly.

“The cages,” Enda instructs as he stands. He approaches Patrick and he tries not to pull away as Enda’s hand moves to his face. He grits his teeth when Enda’s hand settles on his chin and tilts his head back. “Hopefully the next time I see you, you’ll be feeling a little more hospitable to your old husband, hmm?”

The moment Patrick feels the tension of the chain lessen he pulls his head back and tries to bite the dickhead.

Enda just chuckles as he moves his hand out the way quickly. “I really am going to enjoy breaking you, Patrick.”

\--

The cages turn out to be a room with three square cages spread evenly along one wall of another concrete room that’s more reminiscent of a box. The cages are small enough so that he wouldn’t be able to stand up straight and there’s a loop at the front of each cage to secure the chain connected to the collar. Dimly he’s aware that it means he’ll never be able to get the kind of tension he needs on the chain or collar to hang himself. The locks on the door of the cages are strange, crafted in a way that would make it hard, if not impossible, to tinker with even if he’d manage to get something to pick a lock with. The floor is smooth and uneven, everything angled down slightly to a drain in the centre of the room. There’s something that looks suspiciously like a fire hose in a corner of the room too. Yeah, Patrick realises, he isn’t going to enjoy this.

He’d fought on his way here, but… but he’d realised they’d just drag him here by the collar if he didn’t cooperate and he doesn’t particularly feel ready to fight that battle yet. His hands are tied together now too which… which he really should’ve seen coming after he punched one of his escorts before being yanked off him by the fucking collar and poked with a fucking cattle prod. His muscles still feel uncomfortable from the electricity… he hopes they modified the bloody thing to be used on people otherwise he’s going to run the risk of accidentally being electrocuted by one of these dumbasses.

He’s alone with just one guy now, regarding him cautiously as he pulls a knife out.

“Look… I’d leave you in your clothes but it’s better without, trust me. The cold is worse when you’re in damp clothes. So… please just don’t try and kill me when I do this, ok? I’ll keep it as quick and painless as possible.”

Patrick considers him carefully again before looking at the fire hose in the corner. He probably has a point. But… being naked feels like a vulnerability he doesn’t want to have here. He nods anyway, squeezing his eyes shut and ignoring the feel of hot tears running down his face as he allows this… this stranger to strip him bare.

He tries to avoid touching Patrick and, to be fair, he does make it as quick and as painless as possible. He’s suddenly exhausted, drooping forward and bracing himself on the wall in front of him. When the chain is pulled on lightly, he doesn’t bother fighting as he’s directed to the open door of one of the square little cages. To avoid being touched or poked with electricity, he ducks into the cage himself—some battles are worth losing. He needs a clear head if he’s going to think of some way to get out of this shithole.

He listens as the door of the cage swings shut and the chain gets secured to the floor—the chain is just long enough that Patrick can move around his little square without issue.

“Sorry,” the guy says before he turns on the fire hose.

_Fuck_ , Patrick gasps as the water hits him. The water is freezing and by the time he’s apparently satisfactorily clean he’s shaking from the cold.

The guy dumps a towel and a blanket at the front of the cage within Patrick’s reach, heedless of getting anything wet, before he leaves.

For the first time in a long time, Patrick feels a little helpless as he crawls to the front of the cage. He dries himself as well as he can before folding the towel and setting it down in the far corner of the cage. He’s still shaking as he manages to wrap the blanket around his shoulders (life is much harder when his hands are tied together) and sits on the towel, drawing his knees up to hug them, trying to get as much of himself under the blanket as possible.

He buries his face in his arms when the lights go out. It’s pitch black and he can’t hear anything other than his own panicked breaths.

\--

And so it goes for what feels like weeks. Enda doesn’t see him, doesn’t call for him, so Patrick is left to rot in a fucking cage like an animal.

Patrick doesn’t hoard the blankets even though he wants to; they just get wet every time he’s hosed down in freezing water. The ‘shower’ serves two purposes, he comes to realise, firstly to keep Patrick clean and secondly to keep his little prison clean. It’s demeaning and humiliating, but he guesses it’s supposed to be. He’s not sure how much time passes—someone comes in every few hours to bring food and water and to turn that fucking hose on. He assumes they only hose him down once a day, but he can’t be sure when time seems to move so slowly. Patrick thinks a lot about his new home and the purpose behind such a design. It’s clever, he admits, built for sensory deprivation and the sustainability of torture—the lights only come on when someone is there with food and occasionally, they’ll put the light on when he’s being hosed down. Otherwise he’s been subject to everything else in the dark. They don’t let him sleep much, they feed him enough to keep him straddling the edge of hunger and thirst, and warm enough he won’t get sick but cold enough that it’s settled into his bones. It’s a mind fuck, meant to drive someone’s sanity to the brink.

It’s been long enough that his hair feels like it’s just a little longer than the buzz cut he was given.

He thinks of Jonny a lot in his prison, of the mess he left them in. He regrets it now; wishes he’d had the opportunity to say goodbye properly instead of disappearing after a fight. He assumes that his apartment was scrubbed clean and wonders if that would mean that everyone just thinks Patrick has left. Probably, he reasons, after what Jonny said to him, he doesn’t think Jonny would worry about him disappearing. _Jonny_ … Patrick curls in on himself. He can’t let himself hope for anything beyond his new reality, has a feeling if he doesn’t fall in line then he’ll end up dead or… or Enda will do something so regrettable that Patrick will just slip from his own mind, lock himself away somewhere deep inside himself and just give up.

Patrick tries to pull away from the reality of his cage to keep himself sane, holding onto the memory of being held instead of holding himself, of curling into the warmth of Jonny under soft sheets instead of the bone-deep cold he feels and the scratchy wool blanket. In particularly bad moments he fingers the collar, running his fingers over and underneath the light-weight stainless steel around his neck, remembering instead the weight and the width of the diamond choker on his neck, the gentle touch of a kiss against his throat, of Jonny’s dark eyes as he’d looked at Patrick with reverence and desire. At least he’d had Jonny for a time, at least he’d got to love who he wanted, loved how he wanted. He thinks, maybe, that there must have been a part of Jonny that had loved him too—otherwise, he reasons, he would never have been so upset about finding out who Patrick really is. He’d called him his lover… that had to have meant something.

He knows nothing will come of thinking of Jonny, but Patrick feels a sense of calm when he imagines he was loved in return. The memory of Jonny, or them together, even their horribly low points, keeps him afloat while he waits for whatever is coming next.

\--

Jonny looks around the office with ill-disguised disgust. Enda likes to put on airs, likes people to think he’s wealthier than he actually is but it just comes off as gauche. Jonny is well aware of the troubles Enda has, is also now well aware of Patrick’s dowry and what the Kane family had received in return. He dislikes both families on principle—Patrick’s dowry had been pitiful, not representative of his true value at all.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Toews?” Enda asks, interrupting his thoughts and gesturing to the seats in front of his desk.

Sharpy stays standing as Jonny sits, a welcoming presence at his shoulder in enemy territory.

“I’m here on behalf of the family,” he starts.

“Of course,” Enda says placatingly.

“We’d like to speak about a few things, primarily though, we’re here to discuss how interested you’d be in a business venture.”

“Oh? What exactly do I have that your family wants badly enough that they’d lower their standards to treat with me?”

Jonny stops himself from curling his lip in disgust. The guy thinks he’s so smart and his pretentious vocabulary just makes him want to punch the old man in the face. If he gets to kill Enda, he’ll be a happy man.

“Firstly, we’re interested in acquiring the skills of a certain person that’s been on our radar for a while now,” Jonny says instead. “I believe you might know him. Patrick Kane?”

“Ah,” Enda replies, leaning back in his chair and considering Jonny with sharp eyes. “That would be a problem. See, he’s Patrick Meagher now, my husband. I’m not sure I could… part ways with him just yet. We’ve been apart for so long, you see. He’s just only recently come home.”

Jonny clenches his fists tight. God the man is… _repugnant_. He’s also completely unaware of Patrick, is underestimating him still. A stupid man would not have kept themselves hidden for so long.

“We’d be willing to pay a fair price,” Jonny says, voice flat.

“I’m sure you would. Patrick isn’t very smart though, so I’m not sure to what skills you’re referring. Has Patrick serviced your family in some other way?”

He can feel Sharpy shift, transferring his weight from one foot to the other. Sharpy holds Patrick in high esteem, and Jonny regards him as an equal, Enda’s insult has not gone unnoticed by either of them.

“No,” Jonny replies, his anger barely reigned in. “Patrick became friends with a member of our family, and they grew fond of him. He provided no services to the family other than friendship.”

“You’d be willing to negotiate for… friendship?”

Jonny shrugs. “Tyler misses him. It’s no matter if you refuse, but Tyler insisted we at least try.”

“No matter, you say?”

The silence grows uncomfortable when Jonny doesn’t reply.

“Would we be allowed to see Patrick? I know Tyler would feel much better about this unfortunate situation if he were to know he’s safe and well.”

That makes Enda pause, and Jonny is worried he’s shown too much, said too much. If Enda knows the kind of leverage he currently has, how far would he push?

“Yes,” he agrees after a few moments. “Yes, I think you’d do well to see how well cared for Patrick is here.”

Shit, Jonny thinks, that sounds ominous.

Enda’s second disappears momentarily, to issue orders Jonny assumes. The room is eerily silent again, but Jonny can wait, can be patient if he gets to see Patrick.

He doesn’t turn when the door eventually opens behind him, but Sharpy’s sharp inhale tells him he isn’t going to like what he sees.

“As you can see,” Enda smiles, gesturing at what must be Patrick. “Very well looked after, all things considered.”

Jonny steels himself as he hears the clinking of metal drag over the floor. Patrick is being led, like a dog on a fucking chain. The collar is pulled tight against his throat, a cattle prod pushing him forward between his shoulder blades. His hands are bound in front of him, have been bound for some time if the rope burn visible around his wrists is any indication, and his ankles are shackled together. His curls are gone, he’s very pale, he looks like he’s lost weight even though it’s been just under a month since he was taken, nothing but a flimsy piece of material knotted around his waist for modesty. He looks tired, Jonny realises, tired but still defiant. The whole staging of this presentation is meant to act as a warning. _Patrick is alive for now_ , Enda is saying, _and he’s mine_.

Enda isn’t looking at Patrick though, he’s looking at Jonny and Sharpy. The old man is, sadly, not a fool. Jonny is carefully blank but his lips quirk into a barely-there smile when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Patrick bare his teeth at Enda.

“What the fuck,” Sharpy lets slip, low enough that Jonny hopes the dickhead across the desk hasn’t heard, but Patrick does.

Patrick hadn’t paid much attention to them until then, and his head snaps back, eyes darting to Sharpy and then Jonny before his expression shifts from anger, to surprise, to fear before going blank again as he faces Enda.

“He ran away, you see. Certain precautions had to be taken to make sure I can keep him close by. Patrick, _sweetheart_ ,” Enda says, voice syrupy sweet. “These men say they know you from Chicago, that you were… regarded highly by a member of their family. Is this true?”

Patrick shakes his head. When in doubt, deny, deny, deny.

“Use your words,” Enda instructs.

“No,” Patrick forces out. “I don’t know these men; I don’t know their family.”

“As I thought,” Enda smiles at Patrick. “He can go back now,” he says, flicking his fingers in dismissal. “Now then, was there anything else?”

“Yes,” Jonny murmurs. “The family is looking to expand its operations into human trafficking,” he lies. “Given your experience and your reputation for high quality goods, we were hoping to align our interests, for our mutual benefit.”

He knows the offer will be too good to refuse, the Toews family is powerful and has a great deal of wealth behind it. Given his finances, Enda will be tempted to bargain—hopefully long enough for Jonny to find a way to get Patrick out of the estate.

It takes all of Jonny’s willpower to walk out of the estate without Patrick. But, he concedes, he needs to save Patrick, not get him killed, which will take a great deal of patience and petty games.

\--

It takes two weeks, but Jonny manages to score himself an invite to some ridiculous party Enda is hosting on his estate. It’s the kind of distraction that will be useful in pulling Patrick out.

Jonny’s men have been watching the estate since their first visit, have assured him Patrick hasn’t been moved. He trusts them, mostly because he knows Enda won’t allow Patrick to be far away from where he is.

\--

Patrick is so s _crewed_. He can’t believe Jonny was stupid enough to… to… what? Come to buy him? He feels torn because Patrick knows he isn’t worth the trouble he’ll cause but he knows he belongs to Jonny no matter what Enda says or does—knows now, without a doubt, that he owns Jonny too.

He also knows that he’ll be incredibly lucky if Enda hasn’t picked up on something being _not quite right_ about the whole encounter.

\--

Patrick hates it when he’s right. He swears to all that’s holy he’ll electrocute the guy that loves the cattle prod one day. The kid, because he doesn’t look like he’s a day over 18, seems to love poking him with that fucking thing.

Enda is so fucking angry, and the harder he hits Patrick once he’s been taken down by cattle prod guy’s instrument of sheer fucking joy, the harder Patrick laughs.

“You filthy fucking whore!” he’s yelling.

Patrick is grinning up at him from the floor of what he’s come to call the interrogation room. He’s more gasping than laughing now, but he still manages to get out a mocking, “figured it out eventually, then?”

He wheezes out another laugh and curls in on himself when Enda nails his mid-section with the toe of his shoe. He’s lucky the guy is old, or this would probably be a lot worse for him. Fucking geriatric asshole. “Did… did you really think I’d be celibate, you motherfucker?”

“How many?” he yells at Patrick. “How fucking many?”

“Lost count,” Patrick lies. There’s only ever been Jonny… will only ever be Jonny he suspects. This dumbass thinks he’s been sleeping around, doesn’t realise the man that had repeatedly defiled his husband had been sitting right across from him. Patrick finds a vicious joy in that knowledge.

“ _Motherfucker_ ,” he hisses when he’s poked with the cattle prod again. He throws the minion a glare when he can move again and, for a pleasurable moment, the little shit actually looks like he might be afraid of Patrick.

His hands have twisted strangely in the rope and when Enda steps on the rope he can feel pull of something in his wrist. The pain is sharp and hot—he’s probably broken something he realises. Not ideal—he can’t do much with broken bones.

“What’s wrong, husband?” Patrick asks idly, flicking his eyes up innocently at Enda. The guy is going purple with rage. He probably shouldn’t be poking the bear, but he really, really can’t stop himself from continuing, “upset that someone beat you to it? Or that I’ll spread my legs for just about anyone except you?”

Yeah, he thinks in retrospect, he should’ve maybe not poked the fucking bear.

\--

Patrick wasn’t aware Enda branded the people he trafficked up until now—but he must do, otherwise why else would the guy have a branding iron? Also, what the fuck is it with the guy using equipment meant for cattle on people?

He maybe should’ve saved the fight for now. He’s hurting from earlier and it’s not exactly hard for them to get him to the floor, on his stomach and hands above his head. Although, to be fair to Patrick, it takes three of them to hold him down—one guy sitting on him and two holding his legs still.

“I think you need reminding about who you belong to,” Enda sighs. “I really wish I didn’t have to do this, Patrick, but you’ve really left me no choice.”

Patrick tries to shift but the guy leaning all his weight on Patrick’s shoulders is fucking heavy. Enda’s tone belies him, he’s going to enjoy every minute of stamping Patrick with his brand.

“You’re going to have my brand on you for the rest of your life… who knows, darling,” he mocks, gently circling his finger over the soft skin just above Patrick’s left ass cheek, “maybe I’ll mark you all over? Make sure everyone knows you’re my property, make sure you know you’re my property.”

Patrick tries again to move but his efforts only make Enda laugh as he’s circling him.

“Or maybe…” he considers, softly, squatting and dragging a thumb over the side of Patrick’s face that isn’t pressed against the cool floor.

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and tires to move his face away from him, but he can’t so he snaps his teeth at those filthy fingers instead, trying to bite the asshole.

“Or maybe,” Enda repeats, “I should scar that pretty face of yours so no one will ever want you.”

For the first time since he’s been taken, Patrick feels a genuine sense of fear instead of resignation. He’s not vain… ok maybe he is. He doesn’t think he could live with himself if all he ever saw reflected in Jonny’s eyes was pity.

“But maybe we’ll save that as a last resort,” Enda says, patting him on the head as if he were a pet. “After all, your pretty face is the reason I bought you in the first place. You wouldn’t serve much of a purpose if I were to find you ugly. I’ll still have those lips around my cock.”

“I will bite your fucking dick off,” Patrick hisses in reply.

“We’ve only just started, Patrick. I have you for the rest of your life. There are plenty of ways for me to force you or make you complacent.”

Of that, Patrick has no doubt. He knows they’re not really playing hardball yet, knows it could get so much worse. It makes him anxious because he’s not sure what to expect, or when Enda will just go into beast mode.

“Now, hold still. We wouldn’t want the brand to be illegible, would we?”

Patrick doesn’t bite the guy that shoves a thick strap of leather in front of his face. This is going to happen whether he likes it or not, as usual, so he might as well make himself as comfortable as possible. He bites down on it obediently and braces himself for the pain—the anticipation is almost worse than the pain of the branding iron because he has no idea where he’s going to be stamped.

\--

Patrick isn’t sure what happens after that. He remembers hearing the sizzle of flesh, and the smell, he remembers the pain too. He’s not sure how they get him back to his little cage, he assumes they drag him part of the way if the scrapes down his legs and feet are anything to go by.

He feels clammy and he’s shaking, probably just from shock though, not a fever. He’s been dumped at the front of his cage, a blanket thrown over him which doesn’t help much when you’re sleeping on a concrete floor. His hands are free for the first time in a long time and reaches behind himself to assess the damage, surprised when he feels what must be dressing for the wound. The dichotomy of the whole situation really throws Patrick for a loop sometimes, the infliction of pain and then the treatment of it. Burns get inflected easily though, so maybe it’s just a precautionary measure to make sure Patrick lives long enough to experience all of Enda’s super fun torture plans.

If this were any other situation, he’d probably laugh about having a tramp stamp.

\--

He really starts to lose track of time after that. He’s not sure how long it’s been since Jonny was here, just aware of the hours slipping by him but never sure how many hours there have been. He think’s one of his collar bones might be broken now too but he’s not entirely sure when that happened. He fights every time they let him out the cage, he always does because he can’t help himself now, can’t bring himself to let them win. The longer it feels to him, the more he starts to doubt he’ll be able to get out, the more he doubts whether Jonny will return for him. He cries a lot too—not because of the pain, but because he doesn’t think he’ll ever get back the years he lived when he ran away. Everything will be different after this, even if by some miracle he’s out in the world again.

Enda likes to talk at him a lot. He tunes out most of it, getting lost in his own head for a while, running over algorithms. He doesn’t like to sully his memories of his time with Jonny by thinking of them when Enda is describing all the ways he can hurt him. Enda really enjoys describing all the possibilities he’s considering for Patrick’s future. Apparently, he has a bit of an exhibitionist streak, speaks a great deal of humiliating Patrick in front of a crowd. He jokes about passing around Patrick like the whores locked in his illegal brothels, explains that he’d never get Patrick fucked up on drugs beforehand because the fun lies in his fight, in his defiance. He wants to watch the fight leave Patrick slowly over time. Patrick starts to have nightmares about it, Enda is graphic in his descriptions and the fear of the unknown, of what could happen, is starting to get to him.

Worst of all are thoughts about if even a fraction of what Enda says comes true. What kind of person would he be after he was raped, he wonders? Would he survive it, would he keep fighting every time it happened? What would he be like after years of pain and humiliation? Would he be able to keep himself? What would he do if Jonny doesn’t want him?

He shouldn’t hope for rescue, but he does anyway.


	15. Chapter 15

Jonny manages to find a weak link in Enda’s little army. The kid doesn’t want to be in the line of work he is but was forced into it by his family who have worked for the Meagher’s for a long time. He’s too soft for duty as a prison guard, Jonny thinks, he would have been much better suited for a relatively normal job like acting as a secretary or doing work in one of the legitimate businesses that provide cover for the illegal ones.

It’s a weakness that Jonny is going to take full advantage of. They spend as much time with him as possible, making detailed plans from his descriptions of the underground operation of the estate. His attention to detail is meticulous, recall near perfect, and they’re able to put together a plan for the night of the party Jonny and Sharpy are attending.

“Why?” Jonny asks at their final meeting.

The kid shrugs. “I respect him a lot for having the balls to fight back. I… I wish I had had that strength, that I had thought to fight back instead of just falling in line. Also, he doesn’t try to bite me.”

Jonny smiles, Patrick inspires loyalty in the strangest places and from the people you’d least expect.

“You have an exit strategy?” Sharpy asks. “Best to make yourself disappear after all this.”

The kid shrugs again before replying. “Hadn’t really thought about it,” he admits. “I kind of figured you’d kill me, actually. If you don’t Enda certainly will—he has a fondness for burying people alive, so I’d appreciate it if you did me a favour there.”

Jonny considers him for a long moment—he doesn’t think he’d allow him near Patrick again, but he could put him to use in one of their other locations, working doing something where he wouldn’t be able to cause too much trouble. “What did you want? Instead of working for him, what did you want?”

“I’m not really ambitious,” he explains, hands up as if he’s surrendering. “I just… I just wanted a 9 to 5 job. A normal job, you know. Where all I have to complain about is the photocopier or the shitty coffee.”

“Would you be interested in that now?”

“Normal would be _awesome_.”

“We can place you somewhere,” Jonny decides. “If you’re interested in the offer, stick with us when we leave.”

\--

The really tall minion of Enda’s is the nicest, Patrick thinks. His name is Kirby and he has kind eyes and apologises a lot for what’s going on. He always warns Patrick if he’s about to do something like touch him or turn on the fire hose. Also, he never uses the cattle prod. He turns away when Patrick is allowed to shower properly in the days following his branding—can’t have a wound festering, Enda explains. He wants the scarring to be clear and visible. It’s an unexpected courtesy and kindness that a prison guard shouldn’t have (the trigger happy one sure as hell doesn’t have either) especially given he barely has any modesty left these days.

He got locked in an empty fridge earlier, the tips of his fingers are bleeding and some of his nails are split from him trying to claw his way out. He may have had a bit of panic attack when that door had been locked shut next to a hole in the ground. He’s so tired.

“They got you with the fridge, huh?” Kirby asks, gesturing for his hands. Patrick didn’t notice him coming in but he’s kneeling in front of his cage with what looks like a bowl of antiseptic wash and a first aid kit.

“Still have nightmares about that, myself,” he says, voice low as if trying to calm a spooked animal. “It was my initiation,” he explains. “They threw me in hole though and dropped a few handfuls of sand on it. I passed out and woke up with those assholes crying with laughter. I’d pissed myself, so you at least didn’t get that embarrassment, I guess. Silver lining,” he nods. “This’ll hurt,” he warns before gently pushing Patrick’s hands into the bowl.

“Can you clean the damage yourself, or are you ok with me doing it?” he asks, noticing Patrick’s shaking hands.

“You… you can do it,” Patrick allows, voice barely above a whisper. He thinks he might have screamed until his throat literally gave out.

He’s efficient as he cleans Patrick’s hands, speaking in a low whisper as he works. At first Patrick doesn’t pay much attention, but he mentions Jon and suddenly Patrick is all ears.

“Not long now,” he’s saying as he rubs Patrick’s fingers with some kind of ointment that is burning. “You won’t have anyone in here for a while. There’s some big shindig that’s going to happen upstairs, so they’re all distracted.”

Patrick writes it off as some kind of hallucination because he’s still shaky and mentally trying to pull himself together after they made him think he’d been buried alive.

“I’m going to forget the lights on,” Kirby continues, as he collects his things. “I couldn’t sleep in a dark room for a few weeks after the fridge thing and you need to sleep, otherwise this will be a lot harder.”

Despite the lights being on, it still takes him a long time to fall asleep. He’s afraid they’ll come back and finish the job—push him back in that fridge and follow through with the threat.

\--

Patrick manages a few hours of sleep here and there—Kirby had been right, the light being on helps, makes him realise that unlike his nightmare, he’s not locked in box buried deep in the earth.

He tenses when he hears the scrape of the lock and pushes himself back into the far corner of the cage even though he knows it doesn’t mean much when they can just pull his dead weight out with the chain attached to his neck. It’s instinct overriding logic at this point, though, so he resigns himself to doing things he knows are illogical. He curls in on himself when he spots the trigger-happy guy that likes the cattle prod. _Jesus_. Exactly what he does need right now.

He’s huddling beneath the blanket, looking at him and waiting to see what he’ll do. There’s no cattle prod this time, so he’s not being moved. But he’s looking a bit nervous and he has a gun in his hand, and that in turn makes Patrick nervous.

“Think I should shoot you before they get here?” he asks Patrick. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” he mutters to himself. “Boss better get here soon,” he continues, facing the door he’s pushed shut again, the gun pointed in Patrick’s general direction.

Hopefully the idiot actually looks before he pulls the trigger. It’s just bad etiquette not to kill with the first shot when he’s not exactly a moving target.

It happens very quickly as soon as the door opens again. There are three people that come in, in formation and his prison guard doesn’t have time to pull the trigger because he’s lying on the ground with a bullet in his head and the blood flowing more slowly that Patrick would’ve expected to the drain in the middle of the room.

“Patrick?”

His only thought, ringing like a bell in his head and drowning everything else out, is that he regrets that he’ll be unable to electrocute him like he’d wanted to—it would’ve been a decidedly poetic ending to his life.

“Patrick?”

He’d spent so long imagining poking that dickhead over and over _and over_ with that godforsaken cattle prod that it seems a pity for him to get the easy way out.

“Peeks!”

Hearing the nickname brings him back to himself and he blinks slowly looking up to see his little cage door open and Jonny and Sharpy looking increasingly worried.

“He uh, he might not be able to talk for a little bit?” explains Kirby, over his shoulder. He’s at the door, gun drawn and eyes sweeping the corridor. “There was a lot of screaming, I’m not sure how bad the damage is.”

“What the fuck, dude?” Sharpy snipes.

“What the fuck was I supposed to do? Ask them nicely to alter their torture timetable? I’m sorry, I did the best I could!”

He’s not wrong, Patrick thinks idly, warily eyeing up Jonny. He doesn’t want to climb from one cage into another, isn’t sure he can trust Jonny despite everything he’d been hoping for in the deepest parts of his mind. He remembers so vividly being referred to as ‘damaged goods’ by Jonny.

“Patrick, baby, I need you to come to me now,” Jonny says, voice low and calm. He holsters his weapon and puts his hands up, trying to appear non-threatening as he crouches down to get to Patrick’s eye level.

“Yank the chain a little and he’ll move.”

“I’m not yanking the fucking chain,” Jonny hisses in reply. “He’s not a dog.”

“Well then figure it out, and quick. He may have been a dumbass, but he might’ve called for reinforcements… possibly even Enda.”

“Let’s hope it’s that asshole,” Sharpy mutters. “Peeks, buddy. You gotta come out now, ok? We’re gonna get you home to Chicago, and then you can throw as much shit at Jonny as you want. I might even lend you my gun if you promise not to kill him—you can shoot him in the arm or something, ok?”

Jonny glares at Sharpy and it makes Patrick smile.

“There you are,” Jonny smiles back at him. “I missed that smile of yours. Come on, baby, I promise I’m taking you home to Chicago. Maman will be there too, she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

Patrick’s hands curl into his blanket as he realises what Jonny’s just said. His mother knows about him, knows about this whole mess. His eyes start to well up, because _Jonny_ and _home_ and suddenly he’s crawling forward, blanket wrapped around as much of him as possible.

Jonny gathers him into his arms immediately, pulling him out the rest of the way and Patrick just falls into him. Presses his face into Jonny’s shoulder and twisting his sore fingers into his jacket and letting go of the blanket.

“It’s ok, Pat,” Jonny is whispering, “I’ve got you now. No one’s ever going to take you away from me again.”

“Do you have a key for this shit of are we going to have to try and shoot it off?” Sharpy asks, kicking at the lengthy of chain next to Patrick.

Kirby throws a set of keys at Sharpy who catches it and immediately crouches down to try all the keys.

“I don’t have the one for the collar, but the rest are there.”

“That’s ok, we can cut it off after we get out of here,” Jonny replies.

“I need to get to your feet, Peeks. Mind helping me out here?”

Patrick makes himself pull away from Jonny and nod. His hands aren’t letting go of Jonny though, not until Jonny says something in a soft tone, curling his large, warm hands around Patrick’s. Jonny stands, pulling Patrick up gently with him and not breaking eye contact even though the blanket has slipped off his shoulders.

Sharpy makes quick work of the shackles around his ankles before standing and unlocks whatever keeps the collar attached to the chain.

“Ok?” Jonny asks him, carefully looking at Patrick’s reaction.

Patrick nods, eyes sharp and clear. He’s shaking, from the cold or something else, he doesn’t know. He makes a low sound of complaint when Jonny pulls away, but he settles as soon as feels Jonny’s warm jacket settling over his shoulders. He pushes his arms into the sleeves and wraps it around himself before crowding Jonny again.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Patrick replies, his whispery voice rough as sandpaper. “Took you long enough.”

Jonny smiles, a little sad, before pressing a kiss to his temple like he used to do. “Sorry.”

“Think you could handle a weapon, Peeks?”

Patrick nods and takes a moment to enjoy the weight of a gun in his hand again. After feeling powerless for so long, it’s reassuring to be able to defend himself in this way again.

“Just don’t shoot me… or him,” Sharpy says, pointing to Kirby. “He’s our escape route. Jonny can fend for himself but maybe wait to shoot him until after we get out?”

They follow Kirby out of the basement levels and Patrick vaguely remembers being led along this same path when he last saw Jonny. To be fair to his husband, the place is actually pretty well set up. Everything below ground is well organised and contains the main offices of his operation, entry points are all electronically monitored, and the surveillance system would make it very hard for anyone unwanted to get in or out. Above ground is easier, everything is made to look normal and most of the security is focussed on the main access points for the basement levels. It makes him wonder exactly how the hell these guys have managed to get so far without setting off any alarm bells.

“Kirby,” Jonny nods at him. “Turns out he’s a bit of a disgruntled employee with a sharp mind for breaking and entering.”

Kirby shrugs. “Not like it was that hard, really. He’s become complacent and can’t seem to comprehend that anyone either would actively work against him in this manner or that there are people in this line of work that don’t want to work for him.”

Patrick nods in understanding. Enda’s fatal flaw is that he’s unable to tell the difference between someone fearing him and someone respecting him. Fear inspires people to move against him, respect inspires loyalty… it’s a dangerous flaw to have, especially at his age and given he has yet to name an heir (his children are all idiots).

“I’d prefer if we got you out of here as quickly as possible,” Jonny says as they reach the ground level and move into the main mansion.

Patrick shoots him a sharp look because there’s no way in hell he’s leaving without seeing Enda dead.

“But,” Jonny says, “I understand if you want to stay while we finish up with Enda. Your choice, we either split up here or we continue on.”

Patrick nods, squeezing Jonny’s hand. “I need to see him dead,” he whispers.

“Ok,” he says to Patrick, before turning to Sharpy and Kirby. “Let’s go.”

They don’t have to go far to get to Enda’s study. Jonny still hates the room, finds the décor distasteful, hates it more now that all he can picture is Patrick in chains at the edge of the desk. Kirby moves to the computer quickly and opens what must be the system they use for security. The kid types in a few commands before nodding to himself and shutting the whole thing down again.

“We have a few minutes,” Kirby instructs them.

Patrick watches carefully as they stage themselves—Jonny slipping into the seat Enda would usually occupy. He follows Jonny, wants to put the desk between him and whatever or whoever they expect is coming, gun still gripped tight in his hand. After a moment’s consideration he nudges Jonny and climbs into his lap—it makes a perfect picture, Patrick draped over Jonny’s thighs, in his jacket with Jonny’s arm curled around his shoulders, pressing him into his chest. Patrick likes this, it’s much warmer than if he’d stood behind Jonny.

Kirby slips his pistol into his holster before turning to Sharpy and nodding. “Just, like, try not to make any permanent damage ok? I like my face arranged as it is.”

“Sure,” Sharpy replies before shooting his left arm.

“What the fuck?!” Kirby yells, clutching his arm. “ _Motherfucker_ ,” he hisses as the pain kicks in. “You fucking shot me!”

“Yeah?” Sharpy shrugs. “You said you liked your face, so… this seemed like a good compromise. Stop being a baby, rookie. I could’ve really fucked you up and gone for a leg so you couldn’t run, or I could’ve shot your right arm so you’re useless for a few weeks. It’s barely a flesh wound. Shut up and roll around on the floor so it looks like I’ve just shot you and taken you by surprise.”

Kirby glares, clearly unamused, but gets to his knees and starts exaggeratedly groaning, curling over on himself and pressing his forehead to the ground. Sharpy just keeps his gun aimed at him, finger off the trigger.

Enda slips into the room a minute later. His first sight is of Sharpy looming over Kirby and he stops short of entering the room, leaving the door open, but before he has time to call over his shoulder for someone, Jonny interrupts.

“I think you should carefully consider your options here, Meagher,” he says casually. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

Patrick wants to forever remember the look of pure rage on his face when he sees them behind his desk.

Enda must realise he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter when Sharpy turns his aim to him instead. He comes further into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him before he moves to take the seat Jonny had occupied a few weeks prior.

“Shall we negotiate terms, then?” Enda asks after the silence drags on. He’s uncomfortable, angry and still thinks he’s in charge of the situation.

Patrick catalogues his reactions out the corner of his eye. He’s not sure whether he wants to kill him, or if he wants Jonny to. Maybe it doesn’t matter, he thinks, maybe all that matters is seeing him bleeding out on the floor of his study. He’s also not sure whether he wants to make it last, watch as his husband bleeds out at his feet, or if he just wants it over with quickly, a simple shot to the head.

Jonny gestures magnanimously with his right hand, still holding his gun. “Name your terms.”

“I have plenty of other whores—”

Jonny adjusts his grip on the gun and aims directly at Enda. “You were saying?”

“You’d start a war for… for this useless piece of shit?”

Jonny lets out a genuine laugh. Patrick likes his laugh, curls in tighter and revels in the feeling of Jonny’s arm tightening around his shoulders in response.

“Yes. I would. But see… I don’t think this will start a war at all,” Jonny says, voice confident and dangerous. In the first time in what must be months (later, he finds out was only two months) Patrick feels his blood heat. “You seem to have pissed off a lot of people, Meagher. A lot of them would thank me for taking care of a problem for them, and the rest wouldn’t really care whether you live or die.”

“What do you want then?” Enda asks carefully.

“What is it you think I want?” Jonny asks, interested.

“My empire.”

Jonny considers that answer for a moment before he replies. “Actually… I just want your husband. I grew quite attached, would give him anything he asks for within reason. And I’m fairly confident he wants you dead. I see no reason to deny his wish—I don’t particularly care about the rest of it. I have plenty of my own power, I have my own empire, and I have no desire to involve the family with the dirtier side of your organisation.”

“Surely it would be better for everyone involved if I were to remain at the seat of my family,” Enda hisses at Jonny. “I have no heir; it would be chaos.”

“See—that’s just not my problem,” Jonny shrugs before turning to Patrick. “You want to do the honours? Or will you let me do this for you, for us?”

“Do it,” Patrick instructs, sure of his decision. “Make him bleed.”

Patrick watches when Jonny pulls the trigger, watches as Enda’s body slumps down in the chair and his head falls back limply, like the strings of a puppet being cut. He listens to the steady stream of blood as it hits the floor, smells the coppery tang of fresh blood. For the first time in years, he breathes a little easier.

He turns toward Jonny and presses a kiss to his lips in reward, pleased with the outcome even though he didn’t pull the trigger himself.

“Congratulations on your divorce,” Sharpy grins.


	16. Epilogue

Andree Toews, Patrick learns, is a force to be reckoned with.

“You must be Patrick,” she smiles, bright and friendly and so unexpected that Patrick isn’t sure what to do with himself.

She approaches him slowly, telegraphing all her movements clearly so he knows she’s coming in for a hug well before it happens. Patrick accepts the hug; it doesn’t bother him because it’s so _other_. It feels so different to be gently embraced by someone smaller than he is.

“Jonathon tells me you have curls normally,” she tuts when she pulls back, running a hand through his short hair. “Never mind,” she sighs at the loss, “we’ll just have to wait until they grow back.”

“Yes ma’am,” Patrick agrees, shooting a curious glance to Jonny. How much had he told her?

Jonny is just standing there, looking at the interaction between his mother and partner, a look of contentment settling over him.

“None of that, now,” she says with a smile as she curls her fingers in the crook of Patrick’s elbow and leads him further into what he assumes is the official Toews residence in Chicago. “Call me Andree or maman, we are family now after all.”

Patrick shoots Jonny a look that’s a solid balance between confused and panicked but Jonny just shrugs in response, gesturing for Patrick to follow along.

“Of course, we’ll have to wait for the death certificate to come through,” she’s saying when Patrick turns back to her as they walk into the kitchen. She pauses then, turning to Jonny as she asks rather sharply, “there is a death certificate, yes?”

“Oui, maman,” Jonny replies, looking like he’s just been scolded.

“Sit, Patrick. Tea?”

Patrick doesn’t know what else to do other than agree with her. “Yes… please,” he says, remembering his manners and gesturing urgently for Jonny to come sit next to him because he is _not_ leaving him alone with his mother.

“As I was saying,” she continues, putting the kettle on and digging through the cabinets for tea. “We’ll need to wait for the death certificate before we can have the wedding.”

“Uhhh… wedding?”

“Maman,” Jonny sighs, resting his forehead on the marble bench in front of them.

“Jonathon Bryan Toews,” she says, voice sharp as a knife. “Please do not tell me you neglected to put a ring on that boy’s finger after everything he went through courtesy of you.”

Patrick’s eyes are wide with surprise as he glances between the two of them.

“I thought it would be more prudent to wait until he was recovered and in Chicago before asking. Maybe wait for him to get over the death of his first husband,” Jonny says, looking resigned to the fact that his mother just ruined any and all proposal plans.

“I am way over that asshole’s death,” Patrick interjects helpfully. “Excuse the language,” he directs at Andree.

“Of course,” she coos, and Jonny shoots him a pout.

\--

Patrick sighs when Jonny leads him to what looks to be his bedroom. He’s tired but he’s glad to be back in Chicago. Something settles in him when he sees the familiar city, like he’s returned home.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home, to your apartment?” Jonny asks again. “You’ll have guards, of course, so it would be safe. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“No,” Patrick says, turning to look at Jonny who is keeping his distance. He’s been keeping his distance an awful lot since they left the Meagher estate.

Patrick knows he’s left Jonny feeling uncertain since the rescue. He’s been quiet and contemplative and hasn’t wanted to touch Jonny much—he remembers their fight before he got taken and he’s not used to being touched anymore, will need to refamiliarize himself with being able to touch and be touched in return. But then Jonny has also been distant, so he’s feeling a little unsure about where they stand too. He has so many doubts and Jonny hasn’t really reassured him about much. Jonny’s mother makes him think that the distance is by choice though, that Jonny is maybe just giving him the space he thinks Patrick needs.

“Your mother seems nice,” he settles on as he walks around the room, letting his fingers run over the things around him. Being able to touch things again is unexpectedly nice.

Jonny looks pleased at that, carefully watching Patrick. “She likes you very much.”

“Is this your room?” Patrick asks.

“Yes. But it’s yours for however long you decide to remain here.”

“Not ours?”

Jonny hesitates and it’s enough for Patrick to curl in on himself, shoulders hunching. Had he done something wrong? Was Jonny’s mother simply misinformed about… about them?

“No, no, Patrick,” he murmurs, coming towards him quickly and drawing him into his arms. “I’m fucking this up again, aren’t I?”

“Depends on what you think you’re fucking up,” Patrick replies, his face pressed into Jonny’s shoulder.

“Us,” he says softly. “I can’t lose you again, Patrick. But… I know…” he trails off, trying to find the right words. “Fuck it,” he mumbles to himself. “I love you. And I know you said you love me before… well, _before_. But I would understand if you no longer felt that way or if you felt like you needed to get away.”

Jonny cups Patrick’s face gently in his hands when he pulls away to look up at Jonny. “I failed in everything. At the first sign of trouble I abandoned you, hurt you,” he says, voice filled with regret. “I failed to keep you safe, to protect you from harm… not just from others, but from myself. I’m here if you want me, if you think you can find it in yourself to forgive me, to trust me again. But I’m not him, I won’t force you.”

Patrick can feel the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, and Jonny dutifully wipes them gently from his cheeks as they fall.

“I still love you, Jonny. I do. But,” he sniffles, “but I’m not ready to get married again. I’m ready to work on us though, so are you ok with a really long engagement?”

Jonny’s smile is… everything Patrick needed in that moment. “I haven’t even proposed yet.”

Patrick laughs wetly, fingers curling around Jonny’s hands as he presses up to give Jonny a sweet kiss. “I think your mother just asked for you.”

Jonny grumbles unhappily, pulling Patrick in for a hug. He curls himself around Patrick, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He misses Patrick’s curls. “I still need to ask,” Jonny says stubbornly.

“Then ask me, asshole,” Patrick replies.

“Then marry me, asshole,” Jonny commands, throwing his words right back at him.

Patrick’s laugh as he says “ok” is everything Jonny could have wished for. “But you get to explain the concept of a long engagement to your mother.”

\--

She’s not happy with Patrick’s decision to have a long engagement but he thinks she’s angry at Jonny about it, not him. Apparently Sharpy informed her about Jonny’s multiple partners and she’s had words with him she assured Patrick. He’s not sure whether Jonny is upset about the fact that his mother appears to favour Patrick over her own son, but he thinks it’s fine because sometimes he catches a soft, fond expression on Jonny’s face when he sees them talking in the kitchen.

Patrick glances down at the ring, smiling at the memory of receiving it. Jonny had clearly wanted to try for romantic, but the proposal had come out as more of a command than a request and Patrick laughing probably hadn’t made things any better. The ring is surprisingly simplistic compared to the other jewellery Jonny likes to buy him (Andree told him to accept the gifts, so he doesn’t grumble too much about the unnecessary display of wealth).

It’s taken some time, but Patrick is starting to feel more like his normal self again. He has Tyler and Jonny to thank for that—Tyler especially.

“You ok?” Jonny asks sleepily, pushing his face into Patrick’s shoulder and wrapping himself around him tighter.

“Yeah, just thinking about wedding planning,” Patrick replies.

“Argh,” Jonny groans, voice muffled. “Why? No wedding stuff this early in the morning.”

Patrick laughs, combing his fingers through Jonny’s hair. “Your mother wants to start.”

“Doesn’t matter what she wants,” Jonny says, lifting his head to look at Patrick and press a kiss to his lips. “Do _you_ want to start the planning?”

“Well,” Patrick replies, a cheeky smile on his face. “This really hot guy asked me to marry him and I’d kind of like to lock that shit down, you know? Secure his affections as it were.”

Jonny considers him seriously for a quiet moment. “You know we don’t have to get married, right? You’re it for me regardless.”

“Yeah, Jonny,” Patrick says, smile soft and open and he pulls Jonny down to kiss him. “I love you.”

“Love you too, babe,” Jonny murmurs against his lips.


End file.
